The more likable he is, the more deadly he is.” -Katniss Everdeen
My little sister, Prim, curled up on her side, cocooned in my mother’s body, their cheeks pressed together. In sleep, my mother looks younger, still worn but not so beaten-down. Prim’s face is as fresh as a raindrop, as lovely as the primrose for which she was named. My mother was very beautiful once, too. Or so they tell me.
People deal with me, but they are genuinely fond of Prim. Maybe there will be enough fondness to keep her alive.
The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest down through my body out along my arms and legs to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me the kisses have the opposite effect of making my need greater.
The only thing worse than fighting a giant scorpion was fighting a giant scorpion who was trying to protect her young.
A need for revenge can burn long and hot. Especially if every glance in a mirror reinforces it.
You and me Haymitch.Very cozy.Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights sitting around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tale. -Peeta Mellark
I sit back on my bed cross-legged and find myself rubbing the smooth iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth against my lips. For some reason, it’s soothing. A cool kiss
No more fear of hunger. A new kind of freedom. But what then ... what? What would my life be like on a daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I'm not really sure who I am, what my identity is. The idea scares me some.
if he goes and dies on me now, I know I'll go completely insane.
We sit in silence awhile then I blurt out the thing that's on both our minds. "How are we going to kill these people, Peeta?
Frankly, I could use a little sugarcoating.
the evil thing is inside, not out.
Not only does he hate me, and want to kill me, he no longer believes I'm human. It was less painful being strangled.
You want a piece of advice?" said Ripred. "Don't bother. I know what you'll say. The whole thing's stupid," said Gregor. "Quite the contrary. I was going to say that life is short. There are only a few good things in it, really. Don't pretend that one isn't happening." said Ripred.
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.
I don't know how to make people like me. Cinna, how do you make people like you?
I don't write about adolescence. I write about war. For adolescents.
When I was young I was trained in stage fighting and rapier and dagger, for several years.
One of the most memorable things I hear is when someone tells me that my books got a reluctant reader to read.
"If I could grow wings, I could fly. Only people can't grow wings," he say's. "Real or not real?" "Real," I say. "But people don't need wings to survive." "Mockingjays do."
No one knows what to do with you, girlie.
there's plenty of blame to go around.
They more than do their work, they take pride in it. Like Cinna.
"I'm not their slave," the man mutters. "I am," I say. "That's why I killed Cato ... and he killed Thresh ... and he killed Clove ... and she tried to kill me. It just goes around and around, and who wins? Not us. Not the districts. Always the Capitol. But I'm tired of being a piece in their Games."
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