Gide and I have attained such perfect intellectual communion that I experience the appropriate labor pains for every thought he gives birth to!

...what I write is smarter than I am. Because I can rewrite it.

War has been the norm and peace the exception

One cannot use the life to interpret the work. But One can use the work to interpret the life.

The ideal or the dream would be to arrive at a language that heals as much as it separates.

If literature has engaged me as a project, first as a reader, then as a writer, it is as an extension of my sympathies to other selves, other domains, other dreams, other territories.

Theories that diseases are caused by mental states and can be cured by will power are always an index of how much is not understood about a disease.

The fear of becoming old is born of the recognition that one is not living now the life that one wishes. It is equivalent to a sense of abusing the present.

Despite the illusion of giving understanding, what seeing through photographs really invites is an acquisitive relation to the world that nourishes aesthetic awareness and promotes emotional detachment.

To travel is to shop.

Pop art: only possible in an affluent society, where one can be free to enjoy ironic consumption.

The best criticism, and it is uncommon, is of this sort that dissolves considerations of content into those of form.

It was not a question of knowledge...but of alertness, a fastidious transcription of what could be thought about something, once it swam into the stream of attention.

Collecting expresses a free-floating desire that attaches and re-attaches itself—it is a succession of desires. The true collector is in the grip not of what is collected but of collecting.

Photographs shock insofar as they show something novel.

You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him, "Real.

You don’t forget the face of the person who was your last hope.

Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it.

I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now and live in it forever.

I am not pretty. I am not beautiful. I am as radiant as the sun.

It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.

Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.

Well, don't expect us to be too impressed. We just saw Finnick Odair in his underwear.

Destroying things is much easier than making them.

You know, you could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve him.

You're still trying to protect me. Real or not real," he whispers. "Real," I answer. "Because that's what you and I do, protect each other.

Stupid people are dangerous.

I don't want to lose the boy with the bread.

My nightmares are usually about losing you. I'm okay once I realize you're here.

What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again.

I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, 'So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?' I turn into him. 'Put you somewhere you can't get hurt.

Fire is catching! And if we burn, you burn with us!

You’ve got about as much charm as a dead slug.

So it's you and a syringe against the Capitol? See, this is why no one lets you make the plans.

You here to finish me off, Sweetheart?

And then he gives me a smile that just seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me.

I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me.

Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying.

May the odds be ever in your favor!

I always channel my emotions into my work. That way, I don't hurt anyone but myself.

I must have loved you a lot.

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.

Some walks you have to take alone.

It crosses my mind that Cinna's calm and normal demeanor masks a complete madman.

District 12: Where you can starve to death in safety.

There are much worse games to play.

I clench his hands to the point of pain. "Stay with me." His pupils contract to pinpoints, dialate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. "Always," he murmurs.

The bird, the pin, the song, the berries, the watch, the cracker, the dress that burst into flames. I am the mockingjay. The one that survived despite the Capitol's plans. The symbol of the rebellion.

Katniss, the girl who was on fire!

Kind people have a way of working their way inside me and rooting there.