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—
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read (358)
virgin-heroine (24)
alpha-hero (23)
angst-due-to-misunderstanding (15)
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ow-needs-to-die (10)
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ow-is-first-love (8)
south-africa-setting (8)
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“I never use the word 'sex' in my novels - that is not what romance is about. It's about love and emotion. All my stories were different but they all had a happy ending - the perfect finish to any romance.”
―
―
“We can spend out lives letting others dictate our narrative, and cast ourselves as the victims. Or we can realize the truth: that we are the creators of our own story.”
―
―
“Spring returns to my lonely chamber,
Once more spring grass is lush and green.
Some red plum blossoms are open,
Others have yet to bloom.
I grind tea bricks into fine jade powder
In a pot carved with azure clouds,
Still under the spell of the morning's dream,
Till all of a sudden I am woken
By a jug of spring.
Flower shadows press at the double gate,
Pale moonlight silvers the translucent curtains.
A beautiful evening!
Three times in two years
We've missed the spring.
Come back without further ado
And let's enjoy our fill of this spring!”
―
Once more spring grass is lush and green.
Some red plum blossoms are open,
Others have yet to bloom.
I grind tea bricks into fine jade powder
In a pot carved with azure clouds,
Still under the spell of the morning's dream,
Till all of a sudden I am woken
By a jug of spring.
Flower shadows press at the double gate,
Pale moonlight silvers the translucent curtains.
A beautiful evening!
Three times in two years
We've missed the spring.
Come back without further ado
And let's enjoy our fill of this spring!”
―
“And a man who is stupid enough to let you slip through his fingers does not deserve you anyway.”
― In the Italian's Sights
― In the Italian's Sights
“Stepping down from the swing,
Languidly she smooths her soft slender hands,
Her flimsy dress wet with light perspiration
A slim flower trembling with heavy dew.
Spying a stranger, she walks hastily away in shyness:
Her feet in bare socks,
Her gold hairpin fallen.
Then she stops to lean against a gate,
And looking back,
Makes as if sniffing a green plum”
―
Languidly she smooths her soft slender hands,
Her flimsy dress wet with light perspiration
A slim flower trembling with heavy dew.
Spying a stranger, she walks hastily away in shyness:
Her feet in bare socks,
Her gold hairpin fallen.
Then she stops to lean against a gate,
And looking back,
Makes as if sniffing a green plum”
―
Kay’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Kay’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
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