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The pain over my heart returns, and from it I imagine tiny fissures spreading out into my body. Through my torso, down my arms and legs, over my face, leaving it crisscrossed with cracks. One good jolt...and I could shatter into strange razor-sharp shards.

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
Face
Cracks
Jolt
Faces
Legs
Torso
Pain
Tiny
Shatter
Body
Leaving
Razor
Heart
Arms
Razors
Good
Return
Spreading
Strange
Returns
Fissures
Imagine
Sharp
Shards

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I trusted him. I put what was precious in Haymitch's hands. & he has betrayed me
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Yes, it's your fault I'm alive.
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Because that's what you and I do, protect each other.
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So at least half the victors have instructed their mentors to request you as an ally. I know it can't be your sunny personality.” “They saw her shoot,” says Peeta with a smile. “Actually, I saw her shoot, for real, for the first time. I'm about to put in a formal request myself.” “You're that good?” Haymitch asks me.
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Because I can't handle the nightmares. Not without you.
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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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It's not easy to find a topic. Talking of home is painful. Talking of the present unbearable.
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I keep hoping that as time passes by, we’ll regain the ease between us, but part of me knows it’s futile. There’s no going back.
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The main thing I feel is a sense of relief. That I can give up this game. That the question of whether I can succeed in this venture has been answered, even if that answer is a resounding no. That if desperate times call for desperate measures, I am free to act as desperately as I want.
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I'm more than just a piece in their Games.
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But once I saw Fulvia Cardew crumple up a sheet of paper with just a couple of words written on it and you would’ve thought she’d murdered someone from the looks she got.
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But I don't know what to him about the aftermath of killing a person. About how they never leave you.
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There's always hand-to-hand combat. All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead! I can hear my voice rising in anger. But you won't! You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows.
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Roses. Wolf mutts. Tributes. Frosted Dolphins. Friends. Mockingjays. Stylists. Me. Everything screams in my dreams tonight.
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If you won't talk about yourself, at least compliment the audience. Just keep turning it back around, all right. Gush.
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Behind a rack of framed photos of Snow, we encounter a wounded Peacekeeper propped up against a strip of brick wall. He asks us for help. Gale knees him in the side of the head and takes his gun.
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hey. I just wanted to make sure you got home, I say. Katniss, I live three houses away from you, he says.
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We sit in silence awhile then I blurt out the thing that's on both our minds. How are we going to kill these people, Peeta?
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It's to the Capitol's advantage to have us divided among ourselves. Another tool to cause misery in our district. A way to plant hatred between the starving workers [of the Seam] and those who can generally count on supper and thereby ensure we will never trust one another.
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Please feel free to take this personally.
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