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You call that a kiss?

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
Kiss
Hunger
Kissing
Call

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Who says i can't handle it? I can handle it, said Gregor obviously not handling it.
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Everything is happening too fast for me to process it.
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Time and tragedy have forced her to grow too quickly, at least for my taste, into a young woman who stitches bleeding wounds and knows our mother can hear only so much.
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Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes, and when again they open, the sun will rise.
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Once I'm on my feet I realize escape might not be so easy.
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Yes, it's your fault I'm alive.
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I’m in pain. That’s the only way I get your attention
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If I'm going to die, I want to still be me
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What will break me into a million pieces so that I am beyond repair, beyond usefulness?
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Thank you for you consideration
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It's meant to be pretty, whispers Octavia, and I can see the tears threatening to spill over her lashes. Posy considers this and says matter-of-factly, I think you'd be pretty in any color. The tiniest of smiles forms on Octavia's lips. Thank you.
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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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It’s the first time I’ve ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever.
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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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Jackson has devised a game called Real or Not Real to help Peeta. He mentions something he thinks happened, and they tell him if it's true or imagined, usually followed by a brief explanation.
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And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don't want him to die. And it's not about the sponsors. And it's not about what will happen when we get home. And it's not just that I don't want to be alone. It's him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread.
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Yes, I’m a mouse. Squeak, squeak. Now shoo-shoo back to your little bug friends,” said Rirped, picking up a hunk of dried beef. He tore a off a piece with his teeth and noticed Boots hadn’t moved. He pulled back his lips to reveal a row of jagged teeth and gave her a sharp hiss.
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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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We fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice.
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I flee what I can't fight. What can only do me harm.
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