Mercy

“Drift,” she mouths softly in English, “what is drift?” My mother translates into her language, not one of mine. I try to make myself remember by writing 婆 over and over on squares of paper covering the walls so I am surrounded by the women and the water radicals they hold close. The tips of waves touch me in my sleep.”
― Nina Mingya Powles, Magnolia, 木蘭

“Sometimes I think the War is harder on parents than on soldiers," said Pritchard.
Gaunt could tell he was lying, but Gaunt would have lied too, if he had thought of it. Instead, all he could think of was No Man's Land at night, when the star shells lit it up, and it seemed to contain the world. The steak and champagne disgusted him. The fine china and silverware were sticky with something intangible, something fouler than the mud of the trenches. Next to him, Pritchard dropped his fork with a clatter. Gaunt still knew the names of all the men in his company. Where would they see tonight? How many were left alive ?”
― Alice Winn, In Memoriam

“How I will miss the horses.”
― Gabrielle Zevin, Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow

“Non, c'est le contraire, c'est le contraire qui devrait arriver, tu devrais avoir le droit au silence, ceux qui ont vécu la violence devraient avoir le droit de ne pas en parler, ils devraient être les seuls à avoir le droit de se taire, et ce sont les autres à qui on devrait reprocher de ne pas parler.”
― Édouard Louis, Histoire de la violence