“Paper balls? You were throwing balled up paper at an alligator?”

“Professor Lyall, cursing his Alpha for departing so precipitously, balled up the piece of paper and, after minor consideration for the delicacy of the information it contained, ate it.”

“A paper man. How romantic. And when I tire of him, I can just crumple him into a huge ball.”

“When we started walking to the computer room, I thought I was pretty prepared because I had managed to withdraw the balled-up outline worksheet from the paper graveyard under my bed.”

“To say that these men paid their shillings to watch twenty-two hirelings kick a ball is merely to say that a violin is wood and catgut, that Hamlet is so much paper and ink.”

“It’s time for the drawing. Effie Trinket says as she always does, “Ladies first!” and crosses to the glass ball with the girls’ names. She reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. The crowd draws in a collective breath and then you can hear a pin drop, and I’m feeling nauseous and so desperately hoping that it’s not me, that it’s not me, that it’s not me.”