Suzanne Collins Quotes

I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now and live in it forever.

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.

He passed Pluribus's nightclub and allowed himself a small smile. A person could get rat poison at any number of places, but he'd surreptiously scooped up a pinch of it from the back alley last week and taken it home. It'd been tricky getting it into the morphling bottle, especially using gloves, but eventually he'd squeezed what he judged to be a sufficient dose through the opening. He'd taken the precaution of making sure the bottle was wiped clean. There was nothing to make Dean Highbottom suspicious of it when he pulled it from the trash and slipped it into his pocket. Nothing when he unscrewed the dropper and dripped the morphling onto his tongue. Although he couldn't help hoping that, as the dean drew his final breath, he'd realize what so many others had realized when they'd challenged him. What all of Panem would know one day. What was inevitable. Snow lands on top.

"You love me. Real or not real?"
I tell him, "Real."

"Well, I knew that goat would be a little gold mine," I say.
Yes, of course I was referring to that, not the lasting joy you gave your sister you love so much you took her place in the reaping," says Peeta drily."

Katniss, she's running this district. She can't do it if it seems like she's caving in to your will. You mean she can't stand any dissent, even if it's fair.

My mother says healers are born, not made.

"We didn't bomb the train tunnel, you know. Some of them will probably get out."
"And then we'll shoot them when they show their faces?" I ask.
"Only if we have to," he answers.

"If Peeta and I were both to die, or they thought we were....My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. "No, I won't let you." "Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?" Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. "The count of three," he says. We stand, our backs pressed together, our empty hands locked tight. "Hold them out. I want everyone to see," he says. I spread out my fingers, and the dark berries glisten in the sun. I give Peeta's hand one last squeeze as a signal, as a good-bye, and we begin counting. "One." Maybe I'm wrong. "Two." Maybe they don't care if we both die. "Three!" It's too late to change my mind. I lift my hand to my mouth taking one last look at the world. The berries have just passed my lips when the trumpets begin to blare. The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts above them. "Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the 74th Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you - the tributes of District 12!

"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."

"At a few minutes before four, Peeta turns to me again. "Your favorite colour . . . it's green?"
"That's right." Then I think of something to add. "And yours is orange."
"Orange?" He seems unconvinced.
"Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset," I say. "At least, that's what you told me once."
"Oh." He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. "Thank you."
But more words tumble out. "You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces."
Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry."

Aim higher in case you fall short.

"But his arms are there to comfort me, and eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him "Real.

We star-crossed lovers of District 12, who suffered so much and enjoyed so little the rewards of our victory, do not seek our fans' favor, grace them with our smiles, or catch their kisses. We are unforgiving.
And I love it. Getting to be myself at last.

You don’t forget the face of the person who was your last hope.