Young Adult Authors

"Spy three suspicious butterflies flitting over hedge. Check the planes. Yep, small foliots, arms flapping wildly. Wasp rises up behind them, shoots down out of sun, zaps them with Infernos, one, two, three. Burning butterflies crash-land in pond. Alert master to my triumph. She inspects charred fragments. Her scowl deepens; turns out they were her slaves, returning with valuable information."

"No attack yet by Archmage. Wish he'd hurry up."

"Today summoned painfully to earth by a short fat English magician with a dangerous stammer*."

"Wednesday Yep, same again. Saw a few nice whirling colours and things. That's it. Easy, this journal lark, isn't it?"

"Tuesday Ditto."

"Monday In Other Place. Did nothing."

"As part of my current charge I have been instructed to provide an occasional journal of my recent activities*."

"The temperature of the room dropped fast."

"A better plan would be to head straight for Bart's Guide to London, since that's hugely entertaining and witty, i.e. written by me."

"I'm only introducing it because of a small sub-clause in an Official Charge that escaped my notice a year or two back. Unfortunately the author didn't forget. Like elephants, authors are – nothing contractual escapes them."

"So I departed, leaving behind a pungent smell of brimstone. Just something to remember me by."

"Take that stupid grin off your face," he said. "You're putting me off." "Sorry." I adopted a hideous expression of malady and woe. "That's not much better."

"In the middle of the lawn was a lake adorned with an ornamental fountain, depicting an amorous Greek god trying to kiss a dolphin.†"

""Woken up, have you?" the woman said. Her voice was like broken glass in an ice bucket.†"

"I know you," he said. "I know your scent. Long ago, yes, but I never forget. I know your name." "A friend of a friend, perhaps?" I eyed his spear-tip nervously. Unlike Eagle-beak, he didn't wave it about at all. "No... an enemy..." "Terrible when you can't remember something that's right on the tip of your tongue," I observed. "Isn't it, though? And you try so hard to recall it, but often as not you can't because some fool's interrupting you, prattling away so you can't concentrate, and-" Bull-head gave a bellow of rage. "Shut up! I almost had it then!"

"The darkness cloaking my mind lifted. Instantly, I was as alert as ever, crystal-sharp in all my perceptions, a coiled spring ready to explode into action. It was time to escape! Except it wasn't."

"H-he is a messenger for you. H-h-he brings a message." "You stagger me, Simpkin! A messenger with a message! Extraordinary."

"Too much hate is bad for you," I ventured. "Why?" "Um..."

"I order you, Bartimaeus, to reveal whether you have diligently and wholly carried out your charge-" "Of course I have - what do you think this is, costume jewelry?"

"I'm Martha. And you are...?" A small snuffle, a smaller voice. "Nathaniel."

"The old pain had started up again, throbbing in my chest, stomach, bones. It wasn't healthy to be encased in a body for so long. How humans can stand it without going completely mad, I'll never know.†"

"Remember this." he said in a soft voice. "Demons are very wicked. They will hurt you if they can. Do you understand this?"

"No magical alarm sounded, though I did hit my head five times on a pebble†."

"When I landed on the top of a lamppost in the London dusk it was peeing with rain."

"'You should only alienate folks when you mean and want to do it. [...] It should never be an accident.'"

"Life in District 12 isn’t really so different from life in the arena. At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it."

"Her people were great travelers once, going from district to district to perform their music. Tam Amber remembers it, as he was about my age when the war ended and the Peacekeepers rounded up the Covey, killing all the adults and confining the kids to our district."

"...I'm grateful for her final gift. That she's denied Plutarch the chance to broadcast our farewell. The moment our hearts shattered? It belongs to us."

"They will not use our tears for their entertainment."

"Lately the theme has been "No Peace" and the slogans bombard you from every side. NO PEACE, NO BREAD! NO PEACE, NO SECURITY! and of course, NO PEACEKEEPERS, NO PEACE! NO CAPITOL, NO PEACE! Hanging behind the temporary stage in front of the Justice Building is a huge banner of President Snow's face with the words PANEM'S #1 PEACEKEEPER."

"And I love you like all-fire."

"Well, you know I like my pretty with a purpose."

"No way to control the outcome of the reaping or whatever follows it. So don't feed the nightmares. Don't let yourself panic. Don't give the Capitol that. They've taken enough already."

"The upside of being born on reaping day is that you can sleep late on your birthday. It's pretty much downhill from there."

"When you've been set up to lose everything you love, what is there left to fight for?"

"He passed Pluribus's nightclub and allowed himself a small smile. A person could get rat poison at any number of places, but he'd surreptiously scooped up a pinch of it from the back alley last week and taken it home. It'd been tricky getting it into the morphling bottle, especially using gloves, but eventually he'd squeezed what he judged to be a sufficient dose through the opening. He'd taken the precaution of making sure the bottle was wiped clean. There was nothing to make Dean Highbottom suspicious of it when he pulled it from the trash and slipped it into his pocket. Nothing when he unscrewed the dropper and dripped the morphling onto his tongue. Although he couldn't help hoping that, as the dean drew his final breath, he'd realize what so many others had realized when they'd challenged him. What all of Panem would know one day. What was inevitable. Snow lands on top."

""Lucy Gray," he said in his normal voice. "Lucy Gray. It's not too late to work something out." Of course, it was, but he owed her nothing. Certainly not the truth."

"I'll tell them how I survive it. I'll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I'm afraid it could be taken away. That's when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I've seen someone do. It's like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years. But there are much worse games to play."

"The questions are just beginning. The arenas have been completely destroyed, the memorials built, there are no more Hunger Games. But they teach about them at school, and the girl knows we played a role in them. The boy will know in a few years."

"I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. 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. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him, "Real.""

"Buttercup begins to wail as well. He circles me, just out of reach, as wave after wave of sobs racks my body, until eventually I fall unconscious. But he must understand. He must know that the unthinkable has happened and to survive will require previously unthinkable acts. Because hours later, when I come to in my bed, he's there in the moonlight. Crouched beside me, yellow eyes alert, guarding me from the night."

"It was the waste of a trip. She's not here," I tell him. Buttercup hisses again. "She's not here. You can hiss all you like. You won't find Prim." At her name, he perks up. Raises his flattened ears. Begins to meow hopefully. "Get out!" He dodges the pillow I throw at him. "Go away! There's nothing left for you here!" I start to shake, furious with him. "She's not coming back! She's never ever coming back here again!" I grab another pillow and get to my feet to improve my aim. Out of nowhere, the tears begin to pour down my cheeks. "She's dead." I clutch my middle to dull the pain. Sink down on my heels, rocking the pillow, crying. "She's dead, you stupid cat. She's dead."

"“Are you preparing for another war, Plutarch?” I ask. “Oh, not now. Now we’re in that sweet period where everyone agrees that our recent horrors should never be repeated,” he says. “But collective thinking is usually short-lived. We’re fickle, stupid beings with a great gift for self-destruction. Although who knows? Maybe this will be it, Katniss.” “What?” I ask. “The time it sticks. Maybe we are witnessing the evolution of the human race. Think about that.“"

"I no longer feel any allegiance to these monsters called human beings, despite being one myself. I think that Peeta was onto something about us destroying one another and letting some decent species take over. Because something is significantly wrong with a creature that sacrifices its children’s lives to settle its differences."

"I refuse for this to be true. Some things even I can't survive. I utter my first words since my sister's death. "I don't believe you." Snow shakes his head in mock disappointment. "Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other.""

"Closing my eyes doesn’t help. Fire burns brighter in the darkness."

"I think...you still have no idea. The effect you can have."

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

"So, now that we’re dead, what’s our next move?"

"All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it."