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Because it doesn't matter anymore, and because I'm so desperately lonely I can't stand it.

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
Doesn
Matter
Desperately
Lonely
Anymore
Stand

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I always channel my emotions into my work. That way, I don't hurt anyone but myself.
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I don't know what it is with Finnick and bread, but he seems obsessed with handling it.
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Whenever I write a story, I hope it appeals to both boys and girls.
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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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Whatever the opposite of fine is, that's what I am.
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I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch's voice. You could do a lot worse. At this moment, it's impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift...it is perfect. So when I rise up on my tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn't seem forced at all.
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Something small and quiet, like a match being struck, lights up the gloom inside of me.
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Either you came in here a swimmer or you'd better be a really fast learner
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Every day when I wake I tell myself that it will be my last. If you are not trying to hold on to time, you are not so afraid of losing it... And then, if you make it to bedtime, you feel the joy of cheating death out of one more day.
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Then I get it, what it means. At least, for me. District 12 only has three existing victors to choose from. Two male. One female... I am going back into the arena.
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Oh, well. At least my blood is flowing.
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Oh, Peeta, Don't make me sorry I restarted your heart.
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Whose is it, do you think? I say finally. No telling, says Finnick. Why don't we let Peeta claim it, since he died today?
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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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Each time I wake,I think, At last, this is over, but it isn't.
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The bird, the pin, the song, the berries, the watch, the cracker, the dress that burst into flames. I am the mockingjay. The one that survived despite the Capitol's plans. The symbol of the rebellion.
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It crosses my mind that Cinna's calm and normal demeanor masks a complete madman.
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My sleep wasn't peaceful, though. I have the sense of emerging from a world of dark, haunted places where I traveled alone.
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Desperate, yet no longer alone after that day, because we'd found each other.
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Maybe I'll be like that man in The Hanging Tree'. Still waiting for an answer.
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