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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.

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
Long
Burst
Octavia
Cheeks
Gasps
Knees
Rubs
Tears
Hem
Pretty
Skirt
Seen
Drops
Since
Skirts
Anything
Cheek

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Thinking like your prey. . . that's where you find their vulnerabilities.
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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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I have been keeping track of the boy with the bread.
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He frosted under heavy guard.
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We could do it, you know. What? Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it.
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It's hard to hate my prep team. They're such total idiots. - Katniss.
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If my holding out those berries was an act of temporary insanity, then those people will embrace insanity too.
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I have zero interest in these Capitol people. They are only distractions from the food.
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We have to joke about it because the alternative is to be scared
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I don't write about adolescence. I write about war. For adolescents.
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I'm not a very fancy person. I've been a writer a long time, and right now 'The Hunger Games' is getting a lot of focus. It'll pass. The focus will be on something else. It'll shift. It always does. And that seems just fine.
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Highly unlikely but not impossible.
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Everything is about them, not the dying boys and girls in the arena.
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What about Gale? He's not a bad kisser either, I say shortly. And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other? He asks. No. It wasn't okay with either of you. But I wasn't asking your permission, I tell him. Peeta laughs again, coldly, dismissively. Well, you're a piece of work, aren't you?
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Fine. Somebody else can arrange to get the stupid goat knocked up.
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Katniss? Peeta says. I meet his eyes, knowing my face must be some shade of green. He mouths the words. How about that kiss?
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The Eleventh Plague hits disturbingly close to home An excellent, taut debut novel.
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I’ve stopped talking because there’s really nothing left to say and there’s this piercing sort of pain where my heart is. Maybe I’m even having a heart attack, but it doesn’t seem worth mentioning.
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To this day, I can never shake the connection between this boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed.
Suzanne Collins
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Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying.
Suzanne Collins