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Poison. The perfect weapon for a snake.

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
Snakes
Weapon
Poison
Weapons
Perfect
Snake

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Got it, I say. Did you tell Peeta this? Don't have to, says Haymitch. He's already there.
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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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This is the first kiss that we're both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another.
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But Gale is not one to keep secrets from me. Katniss, there is no District Twelve.
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Something inside me shuts down and I'm too numb to feel anything. It's like watching complete strangers in another Hunger Games. But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion.
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Her name's Prim. She's just twelve. And I love her more than anything.
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It’s the first time I’ve ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever.
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I'm so tired, Katniss.
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I think....you still have no idea. The effect you can have.
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Yeah, we wouldn't want to lose our little Mockingjay when she's finally begun to sing.
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I turn and put my lips close to Peeta's and drop my eyelids in imitation... He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets, I say in my best seductive voice.
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There's a chance that the old Peeta, the one who loves you, is still inside. Trying to get back to you. Don't give up on him.
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The anguish I always feel when she's in pain wells up in my chest and threatens to register on my face.
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Despite serious reservations, I had to forgive Finnick for his role in the conspiracy that landed me here. He, at least has some idea of what I'm going through. And it takes too much energy to stay angry with someone who cries so much.
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I drink in his wholeness, the soudness of his body and mind. It runs through me like the morphling they give me in the hospital, dulling the pain of the last weeks.
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I no longer feel any allegiance to these monsters called human beings, despise being one myself.
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Peeta looks me right in the eye and gives my hand what I think is meant to be a reassuring squeeze. Maybe it's just a nervous spasm.
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I remember the first time I saw you. Your hair was in two braids instead of one. And I remember when you... you sang in the music assembly and the teacher said... Who knows The Valley Song? and your hand shot straight up. After that, I... I watched you going home every day...
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Then he smiles as if he'd be happy to lie there and gaze at me forever.
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For me, it's better to wake up with a paintbrush than a knife in my hand. -Peeta
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