Bakeyouamudpie

“... It is not a curse to be confined to water.
Although to an onlooker, the poem argues, a fish might seem trapped in its pond—although to you and I, it may seem to know nothing of the world on land—it is not so. A fish can still admire the reflection of spring clouds on the water. It can still taste the blossoms that dapple its surface and imagine itself swimming among the trees. It understands more than we will ever realize.
His words were so beautiful, so vivid, that I could almost hear that injured fish speaking to me from amidst its suffering: Do not pity me.
My life might be smaller than yours, but it is full of joy and worth living.
Do not assume that I dream of greatness. Do not assume that I wish to be reborn in a different time or a different place, in a different life. I wish only to admire the blossoms in this one.
Do not pity me—for I am exuberant!”
― Shen Tao, The Poet Empress

“It is true, he has suffered, but if everyone who suffered became monsters, the world would be overrun with them.”
― Shen Tao, The Poet Empress

“It's time," Kitay murmured.
Rin stood up. They faced each other, hands clasped between them.
"At dawn," she said.
"At dawn," he agreed. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead.
This was their standard way of parting, the way they said everything they never spoke out loud. Fight well. Keep us safe. I love you.”
― R.F. Kuang, The Burning God

“At last, he lifted his face from his sleeves and wiped furiously at his eyes. His voice was still broken as he said, 'I should have you beheaded for seeing me like this.'
It was another flat attempt to get me afraid of him—or perhaps merely a force of habit. But I knew the threat did not have his heart behind it. 'Is that so?'
'Beheaded and worse.'
'Terren, it is not a weakness to be seen.'
There were no knives between us now, no fear, not even enough distance for a sparrow to spread its wings. I looked into his eyes, and though they were older and meaner, there was no question they were the same ones as on the boy I’d seen in the meadow. I looked into them and I saw him.
Maybe it was possible to love somebody that one hated.
Maybe, buried heart-deep, I really did love him. Not the kind of love a wife shared with her husband—that was not possible, after all he’d done to me; I might have borne no scars, but my body still remembered—but the kind of love one human could not help but feel for another when they had to pry away blades to find them.
I did not know what else to call it, if not love.”
― Shen Tao, The Poet Empress