Cato In The Hunger Games Quotes & Sayings

I think almost every writer in the world would hope that books would be always talked about with respect and civility and depth and seriousness. — Dave Eggers

It's all about chemistry. Talent alone won't get it done. — Brett Favre

Business and the state have a common interest; not an adversarial interest. — Roy Barnes

In the end, a man makes his own decisions. You decide, not the machine. — Daniel H. Wilson

We can scarcely indeed look into any part of the sacred volume without meeting abundant proofs, that it is the religion of the Affections which God particularly requires. Love, Zeal, Gratitude, Joy, Hope, Trust, are each of them specified; and are not allowed to us as weaknesses, but enjoined on us as our bounden duty, and commended to us as our acceptable worship. — William Wilberforce

Let the Seventy-forth Hunger Games begin, Cato, I think. Let them begin for real. — Suzanne Collins

What about you? If I asked you ... would you turn me?"
Faith's eyes went wide. "Turn you into a vampire?"
"No, turn me into a frog. Could you do it?"
Faith finished her beer in one long swallow. "I might be able to, physically. But I wouldn't."
Miranda had known she would say that, but still, her heart sank. "Why not?"
She laughed. "Because my boss would kill me. — Dianne Sylvan

When he[Thresh] shouts, I jump, never having heard him speak above a mutter. "What'd you do to that little girl? You kill her?"
Clove is scrambling backwards on all fours, like a frantic insect, too shocked to even call for Cato. "No! No, it wasn't me!"
"You said her name. I heard you. You kill her?" Another thought brings a fresh wave of rage to his features. "You cut her up like you were about to do to this girl here?"
"No! No, I-" Clove sees the stone, about the size of a small loaf of bread in Thresh's hand and loses it. "Cato!" she screeches. "Cato!"
"Clove!" I hear Cato's answer, but he's too far away, I can tell that much, to do her any good. What was he doing? Trying to get Foxface or Peeta? Or had he been lying in wait for Thresh and just badly misjudged his location?
Thresh brings the rock down hard against Clove's temple. It's not bleeding, but I can see the dent in her skull and I know that she's a goner. — Suzanne Collins

Let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin, Cato, I think. Let them begin for real. A cold breeze has sprung — Suzanne Collins

Do it. Before they send those mutts back or something. I don't want to die like Cato," he says.
"Then you shoot me," I say furiously, shoving the weapons back at him. "You shoot me and go home and live with it!" And as I say it, I know death right here, right now would be the easier of the two. — Suzanne Collins

Where's your boyfriend, District 12? Still hanging on?" She asks.
Well, as long as we're talking I'm alive. "He's out there now. Hunting Cato," I snarl at her. Then I scream at the top of my lungs. "Peeta!"
Clove jams her fist into my windpipe, very effectively cutting off my voice. But her head's whipping from side to side, and I know for a moment she's at least considering I'm telling the truth. Since no Peeta appears to save me, she turns back to me.
"Liar," she says with a grin. "He's nearly dead. Cato knows where he cut him. You've probably got him strapped up in some tree while you try to keep his heart going. What's in the pretty little backpack? That medicine for Lover Boy? Too bad he'll never get it. — Suzanne Collins

Clove!" Cato's voice is much nearer now. I can tell by the pain in it that he sees her on the ground.
"You better run now, Fire Girl," says Thresh.
I don't need to be told twice. I flip over and my feet dig into the hard-packed earth as I run away from Thresh and Clove and the sound of Cato's voice. Only when I reach the woods do I turn back for an instant. Thresh and both large backpacks are vanishing over the edge of the plain into the area I've never seen. Cato kneels beside Clove, spear in hand, begging her to stay with him. In a moment, he will realize it's futile, she can't be saved. — Suzanne Collins

Come on! Don't hold back," Christian said.
"I'm not, " Lissa protested.
"You are too! I've seen you knock on a door harder than you're hitting me. "
"That's a ridiculous metaphor. "
"And, " he added, "you aren't aiming for my face. "
"I don't want to leave a mark!"
"Well, at the rate we're going, there's no danger of that, " he muttered — Richelle Mead

But somewhere in my circle of supposed loyal "fam" was a dirty motherfucker. The accusations were pointing at everybody. — Jessica N. Watkins

I look down from the branch I'm perched on. The Careers look murderous. Now I smile.'How have things been with you?' I ask sweetly. — Suzanne Collins

For writing, getting off our buts means getting on our butts-putting it into a chair and not moving from the chair for a set period of time. — Peter McWilliams