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Oh, well. At least my blood is flowing.

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
Flowing
Blood
Least
Wells
Well

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I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, 'So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?' I turn into him. 'Put you somewhere you can't get hurt.
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I have not wept since the death of my parents, said Luxa quietly. But I am thought to be unnatural in this respect.
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Listen up. You're in trouble. Word is the Capitol's furious about you showing them up in the arena. The one thing they can't stand is being laughed at and they're the joke of Panem
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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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He became my confidante, someone with whom I could share thoughts I could never voice...In exchange, he trusted me with his.
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Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!
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If he wants me broken, then I will have to be whole.
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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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Let the Seventy-forth Hunger Games begin, Cato, I think. Let them begin for real.
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Sorry excuses for hunters and friends. Both of us.
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its not in my nature to go down without a fight even when things seem insurmountable
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The raw hunk of meat that used to be my enemy makes a sound, and I know where the mouth is. And I think the word he's trying to say is 'please'. Pity, not vengeance sends my arrow flying into his skull.
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Don't. Don't let's pretend when there's no one around.
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Just remember, stealing's punishable by death
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Katniss, there is no District Twelve.
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So what I'd really like is to try and conceal him somewhere safe, then go hunt, and come back and collect him. But I have a feeling his ego isn't going to go for that suggestion.
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Peeta, you were supposed to wake me after a couple of hours, I say. For what? Nothing's going on here, he says. Besides, I like watching you sleep. You don't scowl. Improves your looks a lot. This, of course, brings on a scowl that makes him grin.
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If it's true, why do they leave us to live like this? With the hunger and the killings and the Games? And suddenly I hate this imaginary underground city of District 13 and those who sit by, watching us die. They're no better than the Capitol.
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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.
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I pound on the glass, screaming my head off. Everyone ignores me except for some Capitol attendant who appears behind me and offers me a beverage.
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