Quote

Jackson has devised a game called Real or Not Real to help Peeta. He mentions something he thinks happened, and they tell him if it's true or imagined, usually followed by a brief explanation.

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
True
Usually
Mentions
Real
Game
Devised
Something
Called
Jackson
Thinking
Happened
Brief
Games
Imagined
Help
Followed
Helping
Explanation
Tell
Thinks

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Courage only counts when you can count.
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Then Octavia drops to her knees, rubs the hem of a skirt against her cheek, and burst into tears. It's been so long, she gasps, since I've seen anything pretty.
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A faint light burned in the pit revealing a furry creature hunched over a stone slab, fiddling with something. At first Gregor raised a warning hand. He thought it was a rat. Then the creature lifted his head and Gregor recognized what was left of his dad.
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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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Great. Now I have to go back and tell Haymitch I want an eighty-year-old and Nuts and Volts for my allies. He'll love that.
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You and me Haymitch.Very cozy.Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights sitting around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tale. -Peeta Mellark
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She genuinely likes people. All people, not just a select few she's spent years making up her mind about.
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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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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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I send a silent thank-you to Dalton for suggesting I wash off the makeup. How ridiculous, how perverse I would feel presenting that painted Capitol mask to these people. The damage, the fatigue, the imperfections. That's how they recognize me, why I belong to them.
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I had to do that. At least once.
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I'm not their slave, the man mutters. I am, I say. That's why I killed Cato ... and he killed Thresh ... and he killed Clove ... and she tried to kill me. It just goes around and around, and who wins? Not us. Not the districts. Always the Capitol. But I'm tired of being a piece in their Games.
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Only I keep wishing I could think of a way...to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games.
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But just before they cut back to the main newscaster, I see the unmistakable flash of that same mockingjay's wing. The reporter has simply been incorporated into the old footage. She's not in District 13 at all. Which begs the question, What is?
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turn and turn and turn again you see the what, but not the when remedy and wrong entwine and so they form a single vine
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You’ve got about as much charm as a dead slug.
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I curl up, make myself smaller, try to disappear entirely. Wrapped in silence, I slide my bracelet that reads 'mentally disoriented' around and around my wrist.
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My time in the arena made me realize how I needed to stop punishing [my mother] for something she couldn't help, specifically the crushing depression she fell into after my father's death. Because sometimes things happen to people and they're not equipped to deal with them.
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I killed you. And you. And you.
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Because I can't handle the nightmares. Not without you.
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