Salo

“Once again love drives me on, that loosener of limbs, bittersweet creature against which nothing can be done.”
― Sappho

“How does one hate a country, or love one? Tibe talks about it; I lack the trick of it. I know people, I know towns, farms, hills and rivers and rocks, I know how the sun at sunset in autumn falls on the side of a certain plowland in the hills; but what is the sense of giving a boundary to all that, of giving it a name and ceasing to love where the name ceases to apply? What is love of one's country; is it hate of one's uncountry? Then it's not a good thing. Is it simply self-love? That's a good thing, but one mustn't make a virtue of it, or a profession... Insofar as I love life, I love the hills of the Domain of Estre, but that sort of love does not have a boundary-line of hate. And beyond that, I am ignorant, I hope.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Left Hand of Darkness

“In that last dance of chances

I shall partner you no more.

I shall watch another turn you

As you move across the floor.


In that last dance of chances

When I bid your life goodbye

I will hope she treats you kindly.

I will hope you learn to fly.


In that last dance of chances

When I know you'll not be mine

I will let you go with longing

And the hope that you'll be fine.


In that last dance of chances

We shall know each other's minds.

We shall part with our regrets

When the tie no longer binds.”
― Robin Hobb, Fool's Fate

“Though you thrust a knife at my eyes, I will not flinch.”
― Lynn Flewelling, Luck in the Shadows