H. A.

“No object is in a constant relationship with pleasure,' wrote Barthes. 'For
the writer, however, it is the mother tongue.' But what if the mother tongue is
stunted? What if that tongue is not only the symbol of a void, but is itself a
void, what if the tongue is cut out? Can one take pleasure in loss without
losing oneself entirely? The Vietnamese I own is the one you gave me, the
one whose diction and syntax reach only the second-grade level.
As a girl, you watched, from a banana grove, your schoolhouse collapse
after an American napalm raid. At five, you never stepped into a classroom
again. Our mother tongue, then, is no mother at all—but an orphan. Our
Vietnamese a time capsule, a mark of where your education ended, ashed.
Ma, to speak in our mother tongue is to speak only partially in Vietnamese,
but entirely in war.”
― Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous

“Though the face before me was that of a young woman of certainly not more than thirty years, in perfect health and the first flush of ripened beauty, yet it bore stamped upon it a seal of unutterable experience, and of deep acquaintance with grief and passion. Not even the slow smile that crept about the dimples of her mouth could hide the shadow of sin and sorrow. It shone even in the light of those glorious eyes, it was present in the air of majesty, and it seemed to say: 'Behold me, lovely as no woman was or is, undying and half-divine; memory haunts me from age to age, and passion leads me by the hand--evil have I done, and with sorrow have I made acquaintance from age to age, and from age to age evil shall I do, and sorrow shall I know till my redemption comes.”
― H. Rider Haggard, She

“And, they tell us, we at home
Live free from danger, they go out to battle: fools!
I’d rather stand three times in the front line than bear
One child.”
― Euripides, Medea

“بَلِّغُوْهَا إِذَا أَتَيْتُم حِمَاهَا أَنَّنِي مُت فِي الْغَرَام فِدَاهَا

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بِدْر عَلَى عَرْش الْجَمَال تِرِبَّعَا فَنَفَى الْرُّقَاد عَن الْعُيُون وَلُوْعَا
أَشْكُو الْهَوَى فَيَصُدُّنِي مُتَمَنِّعَا مُلْك الْفُؤَاد فَمَا عَسَاي أَن أصُنْعا
يَارَب حَشَاي بِجَوْرِه وبِغَلْبِه
لَكِنَّنِي الْصَّب الْمُذَل فِي حَقْلِه
أَلْقَى الْحَلَاوَة فِي مَرَارَة حُبِّه
مَن لَم يَذُق ظللَم الْحَبِيْب كَظَلْمِه حُلْوَا فَقَد جَهِل الْمَحَبَّة وَإِدَّعَى

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بِرُوْحِي فَتَاة بِالْعَفْاف تَجَمَّلَت وَفِي خَدِّهَا حَب مِن الْمِسْك قَد نَبَت
وَقَد ضَاع عَقْلِي وَقَد ضَاع رُشْدِي وَإِسْتَبَدت وَأَقْبَلَت
وَلَمَّا طُلِبَت الْوَصْل مِنْهَا تَمَنَّعْت وَقَالَت أَمَّا تَخْشَى وَأَنْت إِمَام
مَقَامَك يَاهَذَا مَقَام مُبَجَّل وَفِي الْدِّيْن وَالْدُّنْيَا عَلَيْك الْمُعَوَّل
أَتَزْعُم ان الرِّيَق مِنِّي مُحَلَّل فَرِيْقَي مُدَام وَالْمُدَام حَرَام
لَكِنَّنِي الْصَّب الْمُذَل فِي حَقْلِه
أَلْقَى الْحَلَاوَة فِي مَرَارَة حُبِّه

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بَلِّغُوْهَا إِذَا أَتَيْتُم حِمَاهَا أَنَّنِي مُت فِي الْغَرَام فِدَاهَا
وَأُذَكُرُوْنِي لَهَا بِكُل جَمِيْل فَعَسَاهَا تَحِن عَلَي عَسَاهَا
وَبِحَق الْوَفَاء أُعِيْدُوْا عَلَيْهَا ماعَرِفْتم مِن عَذَابِي فِي هَوَاهَا
وَإجَلُبُوْهَا لِتُرْبَتِي فَعِظَامِي تَشْتَهِي أَن تَدُوْسَهَا قَدَمَاهَا
إِن رُوْحِي مِن الْضَّرِيح تُنَاجِيْهَا وَعَيْنِي تَسِيْر إِثْر خُطَاهَا
لَم يَشُقْنَي يَوْم الْقِيَامَة لَوْلَا أَمَلِي أَنَّنِي هُنَاك أَرَاهَا”
― اديب الدايخ