IMBECILE!" the chef shouted. "Next time why don't you just put your whole HAND in the food, hey? Yes, your whole hand, or maybe your FACE! I arrange the food on plates with care, are you understanding what I am telling you? It is part of the art form of cooking, yes? A lovely plate of food is a thing of beauty! And then you, NUMBSKULL, come along and put your fat greasy FINGERS all over my plate, and SHAKE the plate, and move my food all around the plate until it looks like pigs' vomit!" "Chef Vlad!" I cried out in delight.

It's the way you look whenever she mentions her fiance. My cat looks like that before he hacks up a hairball.

You're like something drawn with the sun's fire, and I can take only little glimpses of you.

Why do you need to fly so much?” she asked. “If I don’t, it’ll catch up with me.” The words just came out. “What will?” I took my hands from my face, panting. I stared out at the storm. “Unhappiness.

The world of 'The Hunger Games' is a paranoid survivalist's dream.

I raised my hands, trying to shush her. "Don't shush me," she said, eyes blazing. "I hate being shushed.

Here's all I know: that the world is uncontrollable. Chaos reigns. That anything and everything might be possible. I won't subscribe to any rational system again. Nothing will bind me.