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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
Clinging
Burned
Heat
Skin
Skins
Bread
Life
Clutched
Tighter

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Each time I wake,I think, At last, this is over, but it isn't.
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I look down from the branch I'm perched on. The Careers look murderous. Now I smile.'How have things been with you?' I ask sweetly.
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When I was young I was trained in stage fighting and rapier and dagger, for several years.
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It's hard to hate my prep team. They're such total idiots. - Katniss.
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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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Her name's Prim. She's just twelve. And I love her more than anything.
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An ability to look into the confusing mess of life and see things for what they are.
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There's no district 12 to escape from now, no Peacekeepers to trick, no hungry mouths to feed. The Capitol took away all of that, and I'm on the verge of losing Gale as well. The glue of mutual needs that bonded us so tightly together for all those years is melting away.
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I'm sick of people lying to me for my own good. Because really it's mostly for their own good.
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I wonder how she'll make up her mind. Oh, that I do know. I can just catch Gale's last words through the layer of fur. Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can't survive without.
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Everything is happening too fast for me to process it.
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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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We have to joke about it because the alternative is to be scared
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Remember that even in war there is a time for restraint. A time to hold back your sword.
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Then Octavia drops to her knees, rubs the hem of a skirt against her cheek, and burst into tears. It's been so long, she gasps, since I've seen anything pretty.
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Fine. Somebody else can arrange to get the stupid goat knocked up.
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So instead of acknowledging applause, I stand there unmoving while they take part in the boldest form of dissent they can manage. Silence. Which says we do not agree. We do not condone. All of this is wrong.
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He never lets go of Annie's hand. Not when they walk, not when they eat. I doubt he ever plans to.
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The numbness of his loss had passed, and the pain would hit me out of nowhere, doubling me over, racking my body with sobs. Where are you? I would cry out in my mind. Where have you gone? Of course, there was never any answer.
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So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent...and right when your song ended, I knew - just like your mother - I was a goner.
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