A Quote by Suzanne Collins

To be honest, I'm not much of a drinker. It makes me sick, and I hate that. — © Suzanne Collins
To be honest, I'm not much of a drinker. It makes me sick, and I hate that.
I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme. I hate it, I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.
I don't throw the word hate around much, but I have to say that I truly hate seeing people physically fight each other. It actually makes me sick to my stomach.
I hate films. Films make me sick now, and if something makes me sick, I always back off.
I have a love-hate relationship with losing. I hate how it makes me feel, which is basically sick. But I love what it brings out.
I wish I could hate you," he said. His voice was light, his mouth curved in an unconcerned half smile, his eyes sick with misery. "I want to hate you. I try to hate you. It would be so much easier if I did hate you. Sometimes I do hate you and then I see you and I.
I'm not much of a drinker. I'm an eater more than a drinker. So I feel that I don't have to wait to get a hangover in order to eat these.
I hate going back over what I've written. It makes me feel physically sick.
It is difficult to hate an idea. That requires a certain intellectual discipline and a slightly obsessive, sick mind. There aren’t too many of those. It’s much easier to hate someone with a recognizable face whom we can blame for everything that makes us feel uncomfortable. It doesn’t have to be an individual character. It could be a nation, a race, a group. . .anything.
There was no sign of Jules. “Bad news,” said Elliot. “The man is sick. You’re going to have to settle for me.” “Sick?” Vee demanded. “How sick? What kind of excuse is sick?” “Sick as in it’s coming out both ends.” Vee scrunched her nose. “Too much information.
I just have never been a drinker. No matter how much I try I just can't stand the taste of it or the way it makes me feel out of control, which is a no-go for an anxiety-ridden control freak like me.
I get sick pleasure out of going on the Internet and reading about how much people hate me.
Trump has never sacrificed anything for this country, and in fact, he has attacked people who have. It just makes me sick to my stomach when I see him attacking the mother of a fallen hero or John McCain. It just makes me sick to my stomach that this guy thinks he's prepared to be commander-in-chief.
I think, as we all learn as a child, you have to learn to tolerate ambiguity better and I'm still terrible at it and I hate it; even the word ambiguity makes me sick to me stomach.
I'm starting to withdraw from [technology] as much as I can. I don't do much of the social media stuff. Like, if I'm on Facebook, it changes my relation to the real world in a way that makes me feel sick - almost like I've had too much sugar or something.
I hate summer, to be honest. I hate dressing. I hate the heat. I hate sweaty people getting aggressively close to you when you're walking down the street.
It's outrageous to me when I see people hate on someone because of their sexuality. I hate the intolerance. I hate the judgment. I hate it so much.
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