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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.

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
Anyone
Monster
Dies
Shake
Turns
Shakes
Sense
Monsters
Change
Exactly
Doe
Turn
Kind
Head
Make
Asks

More quotes by Suzanne Collins

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They recognize me. Of course they recognize me. My face is uncovered and I'm standing here outside of District 12 pointing an arrow at them. Who else would I be?
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Although who knows? Maybe this will be it, Katniss. What? I ask. The time it sticks. Maybe we are witnessing the evolution of the human race. Think about that. And then he asks me if I'd like to perform on a new singing program he's launching in a few weeks. Something upbeat would be good. He'll send the crew to my house.
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I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me.
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No, you won her over. Gave up everything for her. Maybe that's the only way to convince her you love her.
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I can hear him weeping but I don't care. They probably won't even bother to question her, she's so far gone. Gone right off the deep end years ago in her Games. There's a good chance I'm headed in the same direction. Maybe I'm already going crazy and no one has the heart to tell me. I feel crazy enough.
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Okay, maybe I don't go around loving everybody I meet, maybe my smiles are hard to come by, but I do care for some people.
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And don't you let your guard down for a second because you think anything's inevitable.
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Poison. The perfect weapon for a snake.
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Plants are tricky. Many are edible, but one false mouthful and your dead
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Highly unlikely but not impossible.
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He hates me more, says Peeta. I don't think people in general are his sort of thing.
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I walk around the room eating goose liver and puffy bread until there's a knock on the door. Effie's calling me to dinner. Good. I'm starving.
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Oh, well. At least my blood is flowing.
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Eyes on the forest, not on the trees.
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As we ride the elevator Gale finally says “You're still angry.” “And you're still not sorry,” I reply. I will stand by what I said. Do you want me to lie about it?” he asks. “No, I want you to rethink it and come up with the right opinion,” I tell him.
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You’ve got about as much charm as a dead slug.
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I think we put our children at an enormous disadvantage by not educating them in war, by not letting them understand about it at an early age.
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All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.
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Once I'm on my feet I realize escape might not be so easy.
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All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parent's can't give. More food.
Suzanne Collins