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I’m in a shallow hole, not filled with the humming orange bubbles of my hallucination but with old, dead leaves.

Suzanne Collins

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Suzanne Collins
Age: 62
Born: 1962
Born: August 10
Executive Producer
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Writer
Hartford
Connecticut
Suzanne Marie Collins
Suzanne Collins
Filled
Humming
Dead
Hallucinations
Bubbles
Orange
Shallow
Hole
Holes
Leaves
Hallucination

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You never know. Say the arena's actually a giant cake- Say we move on, I broke in.
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Just last year i wanted to kill him, but now it is my duty to save him.
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He wants as many victors as possible for the cameras to follow in the Capitol. Thinks it makes for better television. Are you and Beetee going? I ask. As many young and attractive victors as possible, Haymitch corrects himself. So, no. We'll be here.
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I'm sick of people lying to me for my own good. Because really it's mostly for their own good.
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Katniss: 'What about you? Ive seen you in the market. You can lift hundred pound bags of flour'. I snap at him Tell him that. Thats not nothing. Peeta: Yes and Im sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people.
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People deal with me, but they are genuinely fond of Prim. Maybe there will be enough fondness to keep her alive.
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What will break me into a million pieces so that I am beyond repair, beyond usefulness?
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Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it.
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The awful thing is that if i can forget they're people, it will be no different at all
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It's meant to be pretty, whispers Octavia, and I can see the tears threatening to spill over her lashes. Posy considers this and says matter-of-factly, I think you'd be pretty in any color. The tiniest of smiles forms on Octavia's lips. Thank you.
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I miss home badly sometimes. But then I remember there's nothing left to miss anymore. I feel safer here.
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How do you bear it?” Finnick looks at me in disbelief. “I don’t, Katniss! Obviously, I don’t. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there’s no relief in waking.” “The more you can distract yourself the better, ” he says. “First thing tomorrow, we’ll get you your own rope. Until then take mine.
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If I'm going to cry, now is the time. By morning, I'll be able to wash all the damage done by the tears from my face. But no tears come. I'm too tired or too numb to cry. The only thing I feel is a desire to be somewhere else. So I let the train rock me into oblivion.
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I must have loved you a lot.
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I had to do that. At least once.
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I wish she was dead,' he says. 'I wish they were all dead and we were, too. It would be best.
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Why am I hopping around like some trained dog trying to please people I hate?
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I’ve stopped talking because there’s really nothing left to say and there’s this piercing sort of pain where my heart is. Maybe I’m even having a heart attack, but it doesn’t seem worth mentioning.
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Barbarism? That's ironic coming from a woman helping to prepare us for slaughter. And what's she basing our success on? Our table manners?
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Just remember, stealing's punishable by death
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