The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (The Hunger Games, #0)

by Suzanne Collins

Forgetting could lead to complacency,

Really, she needed to get her drinking under control, although the same thing could be said for half the adults he knew.

You can’t take my wealth, ’Cause it’s just a rumor. Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping.

With unpopular people, such a minor effort went such a long way.

Coriolanus stood transfixed by the music and the rush of memories that accompanied it. His mother used to sing him a song at bedtime. Not this one, exactly, but it had used those same words, roses are red and violets are blue. It had mentioned loving him.

“If history teaches you anything, it’s how to make the unwilling comply.”

“What young brains lack in experience they sometimes make up for in idealism. Nothing seems impossible to them.

His terror was a private thing, not meant for public display.

What awaited him farther down that slope if he was unable to stop his descent? What else might he be capable of? Well, that was it. It stopped now. If he didn’t have honor, he had nothing. No more deception. No more shady strategies. No more rationalization. From now on he’d live honestly, and if he ended up as a beggar, at least he would be a decent one.

“You have to stop overthinking everything! Imagining every worst-case scenario. That isn’t going to happen.

Maybe he was not cut out to be a lover. Maybe he was more of a loner at heart.

we are all as inherently violent as you say, but it takes very little to bring the beast to the surface, at least under the cover of darkness.

his obsessive nature meant almost instant absorption into the mental obstacle course.

Passed down from father to son. Distasteful but efficient.

He distrusted their spontaneous creation. Nature running amok. They should die out, and die out soon.

“Sounds like torture, having someone controlling your voice like that.” Her hand reached up to touch her throat. Coriolanus thought that a bit dramatic but tried to sound comforting. “I don’t think there’s a human equivalent.” “Really? Do you always feel free to speak your mind, Coriolanus Snow?” she asked, giving him a quizzical look. Free to speak his mind? Of course, he did. Well, within reason. He didn’t go around shooting his mouth off about every little thing.

Coriolanus joined in, glad to be doing something just for fun. The strain of being a full-fledged adult every day had grown tiresome.

Before need, before love, came trust.

“You know what I won’t miss? People,” Coriolanus replied. “Except for a handful. They’re mostly awful, if you think about it.” “People aren’t so bad, really,” she said. “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.” “I don’t know. I killed Mayfair, and there was no arena in sight,” he said. “But only to save me.” She thought it over. “I think there’s a natural goodness built into human beings. You know when you’ve stepped across the line into evil, and it’s your life’s challenge to try and stay on the right side of that line.” “Sometimes there are tough decisions.” He’d been making them all summer. “I know that. Of course, I do. I’m a victor,” she said ruefully. “It’d be nice, in my new life, not to have to kill anyone else.”

Comforted by comfort,