Mockingjay Book Quotes

I search his eyes for the slightest sign of anything, fear, remorse, anger. But there's only the same look of amusement that ended our last conversation. It's as if he's speaking the words again. "Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other." He's right. We did. The point of my arrow shifts upward. I release the string. And President Coin collapses over the side of the balcony and plunges to the ground. Dead.

I guess there isn’t a rule book for what might be unacceptable to do to another human being.

And random bits of happiness, like Finnick and Annie's newborn boy.

I think about going to the lake, but I'm so weak that I barely make it to my meeting place with Gale. I sit on the rock where Cressida filmed us, but it's too wide without his body beside me. Several times I close my eyes and count to ten, thinking that when I open them, he will have materialized without a sound as he so often did. I have to remind myself that Gale's in 2 with a fancy job, probably kissing another pair of lips.

That seems to be crossing some kind of line," I say. :So anything goes?" They both stare at me- Beetee with doubt, Gale with hostility. "I guess there isn't a rule book for what might be unacceptable to do to another human being.

I am Cinna's bird, ignited, flying frantically to escape something inescapable. The feathers of flame that grow from my body. Beating my wings only fans the blaze. I consume myself, but to no end. Finally, my wings begin to falter, I lose height, and gravity pulls me into a foamy sea the color of Finnick's eyes. I float on my back, which continues to burn beneath the water, but the agony quiets to pain. When I am adrift and unable to navigate, that's when they come. The dead. The ones I loved fly as birds in the open sky above me. Soaring, weaving, calling to me to join them. I want so badly to follow them, but the seawater saturates my wings, making it impossible to lift them. The ones I hated have taken to the water, horrible scaled things that tear my salty flesh with needle teeth. Biting again and again. Dragging me beneath the surface. The small white bird tinged in pink dives down, buries her claws in my chest, and tries to keep me afloat. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!" But the ones I hated are winning, and if she clings to me, she'll be lost as well. "Prim, let go!" And finally she does.

I got the idea from our family’s plant book. The place where we recorded things you cannot trust to memory. The page begin’s with the person’s picture. A photo if we can find it. If not, a sketch or a painting by Peeta. Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim’s cheek. My father’s laugh. Peeta’s father with the cookies. The colour of Finnick’s eyes. What Cinna would do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count. Haymitch finally joins us, contributing twenty-three years of tributes he was forced to mentor. Additions become smaller. An old memory that surfaces. A late promise preserved between the pages. Strange bits of happiness, like the photo of Finnick and Annie’s newborn son.

It's the things we love most that destroy us'" - Coriolanus Snow (The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes)

Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life. I try to follow Dr. Aurelius's advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning again. I tell him my idea about the book, and a large box of parchment sheets arrives on the next train from the Capitol

Most importantly, Mockingjay tells us something difficult, something readers don't necessarily want to her, but that is almost certainly the truth: when you get pushed as far as Katniss is, you are changed in fundamental ways. You can't go home again. War really is hell. Happily Ever After is a lie. That doesn't mean all is hopeless. Katniss isn't destroyed. This book is no simple-minded fantasy; no king is crowned to triumphant fanfare, no gold medals bestowed , and maybe there's not even any real wisdom gained. But life does go on.

He made me promise not to show you this book until you’d decided to be the Mockingjay on your own.

Mockingjays are about as rare as rocks. And about as tough.

People aren't so bad really," she said, " It's what the world does to them.

A bomb explodes. Time is allowed for people to rush to the aid of the wounded. Then a second, more powerful bomb kills them as well.

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. But one day I'll have to explain about my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won't ever really go away.

I pick up a few remembrances: a photo of my parents on their wedding day, a blue hair ribbon for Prim, the family book of medicinal and edible plants. The book falls open to a page with yellow flowers and I shut it quickly because it was Peeta’s brush that painted them.

I got the idea from our family's plant book. The place where we recorded those things you cannot trust to memory. The page begins with the person's picture. A photo if we can find it. If not, a sketch or painting by Peeta. Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim's cheek. My father's laugh. Peeta's father with the cookies. The color of Finnick's eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count.

Dystopian fiction isn't a prediction of the future but an interpretation of the present.

It matched the one on his lapel, just in case anyone needed a reminder of who Lucy Gray belonged to.

His girl. His. Here in the Capitol, it was a given that Lucy Gray belonged to him, as if she'd had no life before her name was called out at the reaping.

The odds are never in our favor, but it's our choices that determine our destiny.

Fear is the fuel for hate. And hate is the parent of revenge.

Power has a way of corrupting, even those with the best intentions.

A tendency toward obsession was hardwired into his brain and would likely be his undoing if he couldn't learn to outsmart it.

We both know careers end. Sometimes it's not your choice.

Without the threat of death, it wouldn’t have been much of a lesson,” said Dr. Gaul. “What happened in the arena? That’s humanity undressed. The tributes. And you, too. How quickly civilization disappears. All your fine manners, education, family background, everything you pride yourself on, stripped away in the blink of an eye, revealing everything you actually are. A boy with a club who beats another boy to death. That’s mankind in its natural state.” - Dr. Gaul

It crossed his mind that, given his rescue of Sejanus, the Plinths might provide a loan, or even a payout for his silence, but the Grandma’am would never allow that, and the idea of a Snow groveling before a Plinth was unthinkable

Her kindness transformed to insipidity, her existance a joke to those she had to please to earn her keep.

Courage in battle was often necessary because of someone else’s poor planning

If people who were supposed to protect you played so fast and loose with your life...then how did you survive? Not by trusting them, that was for sure. p116

Especially using the children.”“And why is that?” asked Dean Highbottom.“Because we credit them with innocence. And if even themost innocent among us turn to killers in the HungerGames, what does that say? That our essential nature isviolent,” Snow explained

For a minute, he drifted into a daydream of Lucy Gray winning, leaving the arena, and coming to live with him in the Snows' penthouse, which was somehow saved from taxes. He'd attend the University on his plinth Prize, while she headlined at Pluribus's newly reopened nightclub, because the Capitol would agree to let her stay and, well, he hadn't worked out all of the details, but the point was, he got to keep her. And he wanted to keep her. Safe and close at hand.

Sometimes we went north,” said Tam Amber, and Coriolanus realized it was the first time he’d heard him speak. “To what district?” asked Coriolanus. “No district, really,” said Barb Azure. “Up where the Capitol didn’t care about.” Coriolanus felt embarrassed for them. No such place existed. At least not anymore. The Capitol controlled the known world. For a moment, he imagined a group of people in wild animal furs scraping out an existence in a cave somewhere. He supposed such a thing could happen, but that life would be a big step down from even the districts. Barely human.

Sad, really, as they were both rather exceptional people, for whom the world had reserved its harshest punishment

The edges of Lucy Gray's mouth curled up. As she took his hand, her touch sent a tiny electrical spark up his arm, and he felt as if a bit of her onstage charisma had been transferred to him.

Her hand found his, intertwining their fingers and sending a buzz through his body at their

And last but least, District Twelve girl ... she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.

Lucy Gray Baird, tribute of District 12, and her mentor, Coriolanus Snow, had won the Tenth Hunger

He'd won glory, and a future, and maybe love,

People aren't so bad, really. It's what the world does to them. Like us, in the arena. We did things in there we'd never have considered if they'd just left us alone.

We are all born with the capacity for good and evil. It's our choices that determine which path we take.

Without the threat of death, it wouldn’t have been much of a lesson,” said Dr. Gaul. “What happened in the arena? That’s humanity undressed. The tributes. And you, too. How quickly civilization disappears. All your fine manners, education, family background, everything you pride yourself on, stripped away in the blink of an eye, revealing everything you actually are. A boy with a club who beats another boy to death. That’s mankind in its natural state.

Sejanus's' lips formed his name, Coryo, and his face contorted in pain. But whether it was a plea for help or an accusation of his betrayal he couldn't tell.

It's not immoral to defend ourselves," Livia shot back. "And who wouldn't rather be the victor than the defeated?

happy hunger games and may the odds be ever in your favor

Cómo los odiaba. Se regodeaban. Lo atormentaban. Aún así, no podía más que encogerse de hombros y fingir indiferencia. «Bueno, como dicen, el espectáculo no se acaba hasta que el sinsajo canta».

O show só acaba quando o tordo canta.

The show’s not over until the mockingjay sings,” she said.

We were all so busy trying to kill each other that we forgot how to have fun.