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Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes, and when again they open, the sun will rise.

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
Open
Eyes
Eye
Sleepy
Lays
Rise
Sun
Close
Head

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I’m in a shallow hole, not filled with the humming orange bubbles of my hallucination but with old, dead leaves.
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All the writing elements are the same. You need to tell a good story... You've got good characters... People think there's some dramatic difference between writing 'Little Bear' and the 'Hunger Games,' and as a writer, for me, there isn't.
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For me, it's better to wake up with a paintbrush than a knife in my hand. -Peeta
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Suddenly I am furious, that with my life on the line, they don’t even have the decency to pay attention to me. That I’m being upstaged by a dead pig.
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Besides, it's the first gift that's always the hardest to pay back. I wouldn't even have been here to do it if you hadn't helped me then.
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Girl talk. That thing I've always been so bad at.
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The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest down through my body out along my arms and legs to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me the kisses have the opposite effect of making my need greater.
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We have to joke about it because the alternative is to be scared
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Sometimes when things are particularly bad, my brain will give me a happy dream. [...] When I fully awaken, I'm momentarily comforted. I try to hold on to the peaceful feeling of the dream, but it quickly slips away, leaving me sadder than ever.
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I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I'm so grateful that he's here, not dead by the stream as I'd thought. So glad I don't have to face Cato alone.
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Ladies and gentlemen..... His voice is quiet, but mine rings through the room. Let the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin!
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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.
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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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Birds are settling down for the night, singing lullabies to their young.
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Want a sugar cube?- Finnick Odair,
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The audience must be sick to death of the star-crossed lovers from District 12. I know I am.
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My voice, at first rough and breaking on the high notes, warms up into something splendid. A voice that would make the mockingjays fall silent and then tumble over themselves to join in.
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Just the perfect touch of rebellion, says Haymitch Very nice. Rebellion?
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Because I can't handle the nightmares. Not without you.
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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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