Quote

You're alive, I whisper, pressing my palms against my cheeks, feeling the smile that's so wide it must look like a grimace. Peeta's alive.

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
Feelings
Pressing
Look
Whisper
Looks
Palms
Must
Cheeks
Like
Wide
Smile
Alive
Feeling
Grimace

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Yes, it's your fault I'm alive.
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All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.
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They can pump whatever they want into my arm but it takes more than that to keep a person going once she's lost the will to live.
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They erase my face with a layer of pale makeup and draw my features back out.
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Allow me to translate, Twitchtip said, not even bothering to move. She said if you don't stop your incessant babble, that big rat sitting in the boat next to you will rip your head off.
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I thought he wanted it, anyway, I say. Not like this, Haymitch says. He wanted it to be real.
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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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Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink.
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Katniss. I remember about the bread.
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As the alcohol overcomes my mind, I hear the glass bottle shatter on the floor. This seems appropriate since I have obviously lost my grip on everything.
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I had to do that. At least once.
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Not if we blow it up, Gale says brusquely. His intent, his full intent, becomes clear. Gale has no interest in preserving the lives of those in the Nut. No interest in caging the pray for later use. This is one of his death traps.
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I’m in pain. That’s the only way I get your attention
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Katniss? Peeta says. I meet his eyes, knowing my face must be some shade of green. He mouths the words. How about that kiss?
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Poison. The perfect weapon for a snake.
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Desperate, yet no longer alone after that day, because we'd found each other.
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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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Everything is happening too fast for me to process it.
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You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right? All right, he whispers.
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I know. I was hoping, I say. Exactly. Because you're desperate, says Haymitch. I don't argue because, of course, he's right.
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