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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?

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
Helping
Ironic
Prepare
Manners
Table
Tables
Coming
Basing
Success
Barbarism
Woman
Slaughter

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Closing my eyes doesn't help. Fire burns brighter in the darkness.
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I wonder how she'll make up her mind. Oh, that I do know. I can just catch Gale's last words through the layer of fur. Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can't survive without.
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I take a few breaths to calm myself, step back, and lift Buttercup by the scruff of the neck. I should've drowned you when I had the chance. His ears flatten and he raises a paw. I hiss before he gets a chance, which seems to annoy him a little, since he considers hissing his own personal sound of contempt.
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Doors are for those who lack enemies.
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I wish they were all dead and we were, too. It would be best. Well, there's no good response to that. I can hardly dispute it since I was walking around with a syringe to kill Peeta when I found them. Do I really want him dead? What I want...what I want is to have him back.
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Peeta smiles at me, sad and mocking. Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart.
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Well, I don't have much competition here. You don't have much competition anywhere.
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Remember that even in war there is a time for restraint. A time to hold back your sword.
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I look down from the branch I'm perched on. The Careers look murderous. Now I smile.'How have things been with you?' I ask sweetly.
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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 don't know what I expected from my first meeting with Peeta after the announcement. A few hugs and kisses. A little comfort maybe. Not this. I turn to Haymitch. Don't worry, I'll get you more liquor.
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In my mind, President Snow should be viewed in front of marble pillars hung with oversized flags. It's jarring to see him surrounded by the ordinary objects in the room. Like taking the lid off a pot and finding a fanged viper instead of stew.
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Something inside me shuts down and I'm too numb to feel anything. It's like watching complete strangers in another Hunger Games. But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion.
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But in my head I can hear Haymitch's smug, if slightly exasperated, words: Yes, that's what I'm looking for, sweetheart.
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Once I'm on my feet i realize escape might not be so simple, panic begins to set in. i can't stay here. flight is essential but i can't let my fear show. Winning means fame and fortune, losing mean certain death, The Hunger Games have begun . . .
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We could do it, you know. What? Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it.
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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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