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In other words, I step out of line and we're all dead.

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
Dead
Lines
Words
Step
Line
Steps

More quotes by Suzanne Collins

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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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What? My head doctor says I'm not supposed to censor my thoughts. It's part of my therapy.
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Once I'm on my feet I realize escape might not be so easy.
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I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart. Instead, I find silence.
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That it's no good loving me because I'm never going to get married anyway and he'd just end up hating me later instead of sooner.
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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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It's as if I'm Finnick, watching images of my life flash by. The mast of a boat, a silver parachute, Mags laughing, a pink sky, Beetee's trident, Annie in her wedding dress, waves breaking over rocks. Then its over.
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Want a sugar cube? he asks in his old seductive voice.
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There was no discussion between them it was as if the bugs had worked out this whole scenario long ago. Temp put on a burst of speed for the end of the bridge, and Tick turned to face down the army of rats alone.
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turn and turn and turn again you see the what, but not the when remedy and wrong entwine and so they form a single vine
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One of the most memorable things I hear is when someone tells me that my books got a reluctant reader to read.
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I look down at our linked fingers as I loosen my grasp, but he regains his grip on me. “No, don’t let go of me,” he says.
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I turn and put my lips close to Peeta's and drop my eyelids in imitation... He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets, I say in my best seductive voice.
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Never underestimate the power of a brillian stylist.
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Positioned on my dresser, that white-as-snow rose is a personal message to me. It speaks of unfinished business. It whispers, I can find you. I can reach you. Perhaps I am watching you now.
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Crying is not an option.
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It's not easy to find a topic. Talking of home is painful. Talking of the present unbearable.
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I'm not flailing now, as my muscles are rigid with the tension of holding myself together.
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its not in my nature to go down without a fight even when things seem insurmountable
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Birds are settling down for the night, singing lullabies to their young.
Suzanne Collins