They recognize me. Of course they recognize me. My face is uncovered and I'm standing here outside of District 12 pointing an arrow at them. Who else would I be?
Suzanne CollinsOf 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?
Suzanne CollinsIf you'd been taken by the Capital and hijacked and then tried to kill Peeta, is this the way he would be treating you?
Suzanne CollinsMy sleep wasn't peaceful, though. I have the sense of emerging from a world of dark, haunted places where I traveled alone.
Suzanne CollinsYour 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.
Suzanne Collins