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I squeeze my eyes shut and try to reach for him across the hundreds and hundreds of miles, to send my thoughts into his mind, to let him know he is not alone. But he is. And I can't help him.

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
Eye
Send
Helping
Miles
Trying
Across
Mind
Reach
Thoughts
Alone
Squeeze
Eyes
Hundreds
Help
Shut

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They erase my face with a layer of pale makeup and draw my features back out.
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What have the nibblers ever done for you? The breeze ruffled her hair, pushing it back from her face, giving him a clear shot of her eyes. They were asking for an answer. Needing to know if she could count on him. They saved your life, he said. And for just a moment, Luxa's face softened and she smiled.
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The star-crossed lovers
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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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But if you want to find peace, you must first be able to hope it is possible.
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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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It's ideal really. They will come up with a plan. No one will like it. Everyone will feel they have been treated unfairly, but will be happy that their neighbors feel the same. And that is the nature of compromise. Now let's go eat an awful lot.
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Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever come to love.
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Do i really want him dead? What i want... what i want is to have him back.
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Instead, I watch myself get shot on television.
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I poke around in the pile, about to settle on some cod chowder, when Peeta holds out a can to me. “Here.” I take it, not knowing what to expect. The label reads LAMB STEW.
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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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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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Warmblood now a bloodborne death, Will rob your body of it's breath Mark your skin and seal your fate The Underland becomes a plate
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Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.
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I don't know how to say it exactly. Only... I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense? he asks. I shake my head. How could he die as anyone but himself. I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not.
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My nightmares are usually about losing you. I'm okay once I realize you're here.
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Yes, they have to have a victor. Without a victor, the whole thing would blow up in the Gamemakers' faces. They'd have failed the Capitol. Might possibly even be executed, slowly and painfully, while the cameras broadcast it to every screen in the country.
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It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.
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I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I'm so grateful that he's here, not dead by the stream as I'd thought. So glad I don't have to face Cato alone.
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