1. who is your favorite character in the hunger games? why? what made you like this character? 2. who was your least favorite character in the hunger games? why? what did this character do to make you dislike him/her? 3. which character reminds you of someone you know? why? explain why the character reminds you of that particular person. 4. which character can you most relate to in the hunger games? give specific examples from the novel. 5. if you could be any character in the novel, which character would you choose to be and why? 6. what quality or trait of that particular character (in #5) is one that you would like to develop within yourself? why? how does that character demonstrate that trait/quality in the novel? 7. what happened in the hunger games that reminds you of your own life or something you have experienced? explain by telling what happened in the book then what happened to you (or how it reminds you of something in your life). 8. what is the most important choice made by a character in the novel? why does that character make that choice? would you make the same choice? why or why not. 9. would you change the ending of the hunger games? if yes, tell your ending and why you would change it. if no, explain why the ending is perfect the way it is. 10.which character matures the most in the hunger games? give specific examples of how that character changes

Select the contred text in the passage which sentence in this excerpt from john galsworthy's narrative essay "gone" reflects his view that there is no afterlife? an old woman and mrs. herd's sister were in the sitting-room, they showed us to the crazy, narrow stairway. though we lived distant but four hundred yards of a crows flight, we had never seen mrs. herd before, for that is the way of things in this land of minding one's own business a slight dark girlish-looking woman, almost quite refined away, and with those eyes of the dying, where the spirit is coming through, as it only does when it knows that al is over except just the passing. she lay in a double bed with clean white sheets. a white-washed room, so low that the ceiling almost touched our heads, some flowers in a bow, the small lattice window open. though it was hot in there, it was better far than the rooms of most families in towns, living on a wage of twice as much, for here was no sign of defeat in decency or cleanliness. in her face, as in poor herd's, was that same strange minging of resigned despair and almost eager appeal, so terrible to disappoint. yet, trying not to disappoint it, one felt guilty of treachery: what was the good, the kindness in making this poor bird flutter still with hope against the bars, when fast prison had so surely closed in round her? but what else could we do? we could not give her those glib assurances that naive souls make so easily to others concerning their after state. and the night was so beautiful, so utterly glamourously beautiful, with its star-flowers, and its silence and its trees clothed in moonlight. all was tranquil as a dream of sleep. but it was long before our hearts wandering with poor herd, would let us remember that she had slipped away into so beautiful a dream