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To be honest, I'm not much of a drinker. It makes me sick, and I hate that.

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
Honest
Hate
Makes
Much
Drinker
Drinkers
Sick

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Tuck in your tail, little duck.
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I had to do that. At least once.
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Oh, Peeta, Don't make me sorry I restarted your heart.
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Desperate, yet no longer alone after that day, because we'd found each other.
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I don't know how to say it exactly. Only... I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense? he asks. I shake my head. How could he die as anyone but himself. I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not.
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Katniss, got that spile? Finnick asks, snapping me back to reality.
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I'll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I'm afraid it could be taken away.
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I must have loved you a lot.
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Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!
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Sometimes when things are particularly bad, my brain will give me a happy dream. [...] When I fully awaken, I'm momentarily comforted. I try to hold on to the peaceful feeling of the dream, but it quickly slips away, leaving me sadder than ever.
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Unfortunately, I can't seal the sponsor deals for you. Only Haymitch can do that, says Effie grimly. But don't worry, I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary. Although lacking in many departments, Effie Trinket has a certain determination I have to admire.
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That what? That I knew i misjudged you. That you love him. I'm not saying In what way. Maybe you don't know yourself. But anyone paying attention could see how much you care about him, he says gently.
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Closing my eyes doesn't help. Fire burns brighter in the darkness.
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Never underestimate the power of a brillian stylist.
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I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I'm stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. And it's so bizarre, even for Finnick.
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Scores only matter if they’re very good, no one pays much attention to the bad or mediocre ones.
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A spark could be enough to set them ablaze.
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I swing my arms to loosen myself up. Place my fists on my hips. then drop them to my sides. Saliva's filling my mouth at a ridiculous rate and i feel vomit at the back of my throat. I swallow hard and open my lips so I can get the stupid line out and go hide in the woods and-that's when i start crying.
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Of course you are. The tributes were necessary to the Games, too. Until they weren't, I say. And then we were very disposable - right, Plutarch?
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My mouth has gone dry as sawdust. I desperately find Cinna in the crowd and lock eyes with him. I imagine the words coming from his lips. 'What's impressed you most since you arrived here?' I rack my brain for something that made me happy here. Be honest, I think. Be honest.
Suzanne Collins