Surah

“Sir?” Kitay asked. The magistrate turned to look at him. “What?” With a grunt, Kitay raised the crate over his head and flung it to the ground. It landed on the dirt with a hard thud, not the tremendous crash Rin had rather been hoping for. The wooden lid of the crate popped off. Out rolled several very nice porcelain teapots, glazed with a lovely flower pattern. Despite their tumble, they looked unbroken. Then Kitay took to them with a slab of wood. When he was done smashing them, he pushed his wiry curls out of his face and whirled on the sweating magistrate, who cringed in his seat as if afraid Kitay might start smashing at him, too. “We are at war,” Kitay said. “And you are being evacuated because for gods know what reason, you’ve been deemed important to this country’s survival. So do your job. Reassure your people. Help us maintain order. Do not pack your fucking teapots.”
― R.F. Kuang, The Poppy War

“It’s easy to be brave. Harder to know when not to fight.”
― R.F. Kuang, The Poppy War

“Power dictates acceptability,”
― R.F. Kuang, The Poppy War

“When you care about someone so much, you never want to see them hurt. You worry for their well-being. It’s natural. But it’s also that danger, that risk, that makes our feelings that much sharper, that much more agonizingly beautiful, isn’t it?”
― Jessie Chang, The Water Spinner