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Want a sugar cube? he asks in his old seductive voice.

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
Cube
Cubes
Seductive
Sugar
Asks
Voice

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They don't own me. If I'm gonna die, I wanna still be me.
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Buttercup, miserable even with Prim’s constant attention, huddles in the cube and exhales cat breath in my face.
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I don't know what it is with Finnick and bread, but he seems obsessed with handling it.
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so people really do tear out their hair and beat the ground with their fists
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You're still trying to protect me. Real or not real, he whispers. Real, I answer. Because that's what you and I do, protect each other.
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They hadn’t counted on the highly controlled jabberjay having the brains to adapt to the wild, to pass on its genetic code, to thrive in a new form. They hadn’t anticipated its will to live.
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It's your own fault for being so camera-ready, I tell Gale. If looks could kill.
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And to us, we're more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.
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We star-crossed lovers of District 12, who suffered so much and enjoyed so little the rewards of our victory, do not seek our fans' favor, grace them with our smiles, or catch their kisses. We are unforgiving. And I love it. Getting to be myself at last.
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There's a meeting in Command. Disregard your current schedule,' he says. 'Done,' I say. 'Did you follow it at all today?' he asks in exasperation. 'Who knows? I'm mentally disoriented.' I hold up my wrist to show my medical bracelet and realize it's gone. 'See? I can't even remember they took my bracelet.' (Katniss and Boggs)
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As we ride the elevator Gale finally says “You're still angry.” “And you're still not sorry,” I reply. I will stand by what I said. Do you want me to lie about it?” he asks. “No, I want you to rethink it and come up with the right opinion,” I tell him.
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But some secrets are too delicious not to share.
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I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart. Instead, I find silence.
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I merely feel emptyness. A hollow of dead brush where flowers use to bloom.
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So instead of acknowledging applause, I stand there unmoving while they take part in the boldest form of dissent they can manage. Silence. Which says we do not agree. We do not condone. All of this is wrong.
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When you're in the arena...you just remember who the enemy is - Haymitch
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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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If it's true, why do they leave us to live like this? With the hunger and the killings and the Games? And suddenly I hate this imaginary underground city of District 13 and those who sit by, watching us die. They're no better than the Capitol.
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You can swim, too. he says. Where did you learn that in District Twelve? We have a very big bathtub.
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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.
Suzanne Collins