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Just remember, stealing's punishable by death

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
Remember
Punishable
Stealing
Death

More quotes by Suzanne Collins

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I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble.
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A verbal promise behind closed doors, even a statement written on paper-these could easily evaporate . . . .
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I look down at our linked fingers as I loosen my grasp, but he regains his grip on me. “No, don’t let go of me,” he says.
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Whatever it takes to break you.
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I'm almost there, almost to the barricade, when I thinks she hears me. Because for just a moment, she catches sight of me, her lips form my name. And that's when the rest of the parachutes go off.
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Hey, Finnick, come on in! We figured out how to make you pretty again!
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So we both strip off our boots and socks and, while there’s some improvement, I could swear he’s making an effort to snap every branch we encounter
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There's always hand-to-hand combat. All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead! I can hear my voice rising in anger. But you won't! You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows.
Suzanne Collins
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Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water and hands it to me. “For you.” I hold it out on my palm and examine its iridescent surface in the sunlight. Yes, I will keep it. For the few remaining hours of my life I will keep it close. This last gift from Peeta. The only one I can really accept. Perhaps it will give me strength in the final moments.
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You’re not leaving me here alone,” I say. Because if he dies, I’ll never go home, not really. I’ll spend the rest of my life in this arena, trying to think my way out.
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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 turn and put my lips close to Peeta's and drop my eyelids in imitation... He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets, I say in my best seductive voice.
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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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I had to do that. At least once.
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You want a piece of advice? said Ripred. Don't bother. I know what you'll say. The whole thing's stupid, said Gregor. Quite the contrary. I was going to say that life is short. There are only a few good things in it, really. Don't pretend that one isn't happening. said Ripred.
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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.
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Pity does not get you aid. Admiration at your refusal to give in does.
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Kind people have a way of working their way inside me and rooting there.
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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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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.
Suzanne Collins