Fame and celebrity are such simple, predictable things that I’m not totally in awe of them. It makes complete sense. You have a job where people recognize you. For some reason, they think you’re not human. I do that, too, so I get it. I met John Travolta two weeks ago and I almost threw up. I’m not really freaked out by it. It’s not really dramatic. I just move on.
“Whenever I really want a part, I’m not sure what to do. How do I let the director know how obsessed I am and willing to do anything for the movie? Like, I wanted to write this one director a letter, so I wrote him a handwritten note. But then I was like, ‘how many people are writing this guy handwritten letters?’ Is it going to seem cheesy? What do I do? Do I sleep outside of his house until he agrees to give me the part?”
I spent my life becoming invisible
It’s hard to maintain and it’s hard to get by
I don’t recall, fight or flight setting in
I had no introduction
I just breathe it in like the air
And there’s nothing to remember
“What if Foxface realized where she was at that point – she was up against Cato, Thresh, and the team from 12. She wasn’t good with hand-to-hand combat, she relied on stealth and getting in and out of situations quickly. What if she realized that the chances were if up against any of her competitors, she’d die a terrible, painful death. Then, she sees the nightlock sitting perfectly in front of her as she followed Peeta, and thinks: “This is my painless way out. Why suffer more than I need to?” Maybe Foxface was more clever than we all believed.”
"Isn't it strange that I know you'd risk your life to save mine ... but I don't know what your favorite color is?” he says. A smile creeps onto my lips. “Green. What's yours?” “Orange,” he says. “Orange? Like Effie's hair?” I say. “A bit more muted,” he says.