Everything is about them, not the dying boys and girls in the arena.
I can’t fight the sun. I can only watch helplessly as it drags me into a day that I’ve been dreading for months. Katniss Everdeen.
If I’m going to die, I want to still be me.
It’s the final word in camouflage. Forget chucking weights around. Peeta should have gone into his private session with the Gamemakers and painted himself into a tree. Or a boulder. Or a muddy bank full of weeds.
I have two older sisters and one older brother and hold them largely responsible for the trouble I got into growing up. I believe as the youngest child, that is my right.
And, my God, the actors. The cast, led by the extraordinary Jennifer Lawrence, is absolutely wonderful across the board. It’s such a pleasure to see how they’ve embodied the characters and brought them to life.
It’s amazing to see things that are suggested in the book fully developed and so brilliantly realized through the artistry of the designers.
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.
I don’t write about adolescence. I write about war. For adolescents.
Something small and quiet, like a match being struck, lights up the gloom inside of me.
I drink in his wholeness, the soudness of his body and mind. It runs through me like the morphling they give me in the hospital, dulling the pain of the last weeks.
I’m stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta.
Lucky thing were allies, right? -Finnick Odair.
Katniss Everdeen, you have caused a spark, wich left unattended, may cause a spark that could cause a whole rebelion.
Where did they get those screams, Katniss?
To be honest, I’m not much of a drinker. It makes me sick, and I hate that.
That it’s no good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner.
The Eleventh Plague hits disturbingly close to home An excellent, taut debut novel.
Buttercup, miserable even with Prim’s constant attention, huddles in the cube and exhales cat breath in my face.
What happens when we get back? I don’t know. I guess we try and forget. I don’t want to forget.