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The heat of the bread burned into my skin, but I clutched it tighter, clinging to life.

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
Heat
Skin
Skins
Bread
Clutched
Life
Tighter
Clinging
Burned

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But if you want to find peace, you must first be able to hope it is possible.
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Well, I can't leave Mags behind, says Finnick. She's one of the few people who actually likes me.
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deep in the meadow , under the willow , a bed of grass , a soft green pillow
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My guess is that fearful events are the hardest to root out. They're the ones we naturally remember the best, after all.
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The Eleventh Plague hits disturbingly close to home An excellent, taut debut novel.
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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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Remember, girl on fire,” he says, “I'm still betting on you.
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Behind a rack of framed photos of Snow, we encounter a wounded Peacekeeper propped up against a strip of brick wall. He asks us for help. Gale knees him in the side of the head and takes his gun.
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Oh, the fun we two have together.
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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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If you hit bottom, there's a whole lot of people here to help you up
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This is the first kiss that we're both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another.
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Haymitch in my head full-time. Horrifying
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Frankly, our ancestors don't seem much to brag about. I mean, look at the state they left us in, with the wars, the broken planet. Clearly, they didn't care about what would happen to the people who came after them.
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Because I can't handle the nightmares. Not without you.
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What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again.
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Yes, it's your fault I'm alive.
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They can fatten me up. They can give me a full body polish, dress me up, and make me beautiful again. They can design dream weapons that come to life in my hands, but they will never again brainwash me into the necessity of using them. I no longer feel allegiance to these monsters called human beings, despite being one myself.
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I miss home badly sometimes. But then I remember there's nothing left to miss anymore. I feel safer here.
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