Poppy War Quotes

War doesn't determine who's right. War determines who remains.

Fire and water looked so lovely together. It was a pity they destroyed each other by nature.

I have become something wonderful, she thought. I have become something terrible. Was she now a goddess or a monster? Perhaps neither. Perhaps both.

Ruin me, ruin us, and I’ll let you.

She’s the only divine thing he’s ever believed in. The only creature in this vast, cruel land who could kill him. And sometimes, in his loveliest dreams, he imagines she does.

They were monsters!" Rin shrieked. "They were not human!" "Have you ever considered" he said slowly "that that was exactly what they thought of us?

Children ceased to be children when you put a sword in their hands. When you taught them to fight a war, then you armed them and put them on the front lines, they were not children anymore. They were soldiers.

Take what you want. I’ll hate you for it. But I’ll love you forever. I can’t help but love you.

Oh, but history moved in such vicious circles.

You humans always think you’re destined for things, for tragedy or for greatness. Destiny is a myth. Destiny is the only myth. The gods choose nothing. You chose.

We aren’t here to be sophisticated. We’re here to fuck people up.

I don't love you. And I can kill anything.

You can’t do this for me,” he said. “I won’t let you.” “It’s not for you. It’s not a favor. It’s the cruelest thing I could do.

Great danger is always associated with great power. The difference between the great and the mediocre is that the great are willing to take the risk.

She was a goddess. She was a monster. She‘d nearly destroyed this country. And then she‘d given it one last, gasping chance to live.

Between us, we have the fire and the water. I'm quite sure that together, we can take on the wind.

People will seek to use you or destroy you. If you want to live, you must pick a side. So do not shirk from war, child. Do not flinch from suffering. When you hear screaming, run toward it.

She terrifies him, and he loves her so much it hurts.

She liked listening to Nezha talk. He was so hopeful, so optimistic, and so stupid.

The point of revenge wasn’t to heal. The point was that the exhilaration, however temporary, drowned out the hurt.

Well, fuck the heavenly order of things. If getting married to a gross old man was her preordained role on this earth, then Rin was determined to rewrite it.

I am the force of creation, I am the end and the beginning. The world is a painting and I hold the brush. I am a god.

Rin was so tired of having to prove her humanity.

Dying was easy. Living was so much harder—that was the most important lesson Altan had ever taught her.

You don't fix hurts by pretending they never happened. You treat them like infected wounds. You dig deep with a burning knife and gouge out the rotten flesh and then, maybe, you have a chance to heal.

It’s easy to be brave. Harder to know when not to fight.

When man begins to think that he is responsible for writing the script of the world, he forgets the forces that dream up our reality.

He brushed his lips against her forehead as he drove the knife deeper into her back.

If there is a divine creator, some ultimate moral authority, then why do bad things happen to good people? And why would this deity create people at all, since people are such imperfect beings?

He loves her. Of this he’s certain.

But eventually, you'll have to ask yourself precisely what you're fighting for. And you'll have to find a reason to live past vengeance.

It doesn’t go away. It never will. But when it hurts, lean into it. It’s so much harder to stay alive. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to live. It means you’re brave.

I don't need your pity. I need you to kill them for me. You have to kill them for me," Venka hissed. "Swear it. Swear on your blood that you will burn them.

Come back down,” he said, his expression suddenly grim. His fingers clenched tight around hers. “Listen, Rin. I don’t care what else happens up there. But you come back to me.

In all of his worst nightmares, she’s dying. She’s fading away in his arms, helpless and whimpering, while hot, dark blood spills over his fingers. This, he tells her. He doesn’t tell her that his hand holds the blade.

Power dictates acceptability,

He can’t take his eyes off of her. She’s the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen.

What’s the worst that could happen?” “You’re so young,” he said softly. “You have no idea.

She remembered the first time she'd ever laid eyes on Nezha, and then all the times thereafter. It hurt to see him. It hurt so much.

You asked how large my sorrow is. And I answered, like a river in spring flowing east.

If nothing lasted and the world did not exist, all that meant was that reality was not fixed. The illusion she lived in was fluid and mutable, and could be easily altered by someone willing to rewrite the script of reality.

Don’t try to speak,” Nezha murmurs, because it’ll kill him if she does. Because his resolve is only so strong, and if she utters another word then he’ll be lost.

If you're focused only on your enemy's weapon, you'll always be on the defensive. Look past the weapon to your target. Focus on what you want to kill.

Amateurs obsess over strategy, Irjah had once told their class. Professionals obsess over logistics

He loves her laugh; that sharp, sudden sound; the cynical laugh that always comes too quick, like it’s ripped out of her. He loves her quick, confident grin. He loves her resilience, her bravery, even her impulsiveness. She’s everything he’s not: unbound, reckless, free. He’s never known anyone like her. She terrifies him, and he loves her so much it hurts.

If you hold the fate of the country in your hands, if you have accepted your obligation to your people, then your life ceases to be your own.

I mean, if that ship were a person, I would fuck that ship,” said Baji.

This was not a world of men. It was a world of gods, a time of great powers. It was the era of divinity walking in man, of wind and water and fire. And in warfare, she who held the power asymmetry was the inevitable victor.

Immigrants, we get the job done. (Acknowlegments)

She had a weapon now. She wasn't defenseless against him. She'd never been defenseless. She had just never thought to look.

But the boy already had a god of his own. And the gods were selfish.

Supernatural is a word for anything that doesn't fit your present understanding of the world.

Death Be Not Proud Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow, Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well, And better than thy stroke ; why swell'st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

Fear was impossible to eradicate. But so was the will to survive.

I am a mortal who has woken up, and there is power in awareness.

She saw it in a flash of utter clarity. She knew what she had to do. The only path, the only way forward. And what a familiar path it was. It was so obvious now. The world was a dream of the gods, and the gods dreamed in sequences, in symmetry, in patterns. History repeated itself, and she was only the latest iteration of the same scene in a tapestry that had been spun long before her birth.

She knew with certainty that she'd lost Nezha forever.

The anger was a shield. The anger helped her to keep from remembering what she'd done. Because as long as she was angry, then it was okay — she'd acted within reason. She was afraid that if she stopped being angry, she might crack apart.

I‘m exactly what they deserve,” she said. “They don‘t want peace, they want revenge. I‘m it.

She recognized the way he was looking at her. It was how she’d once looked at Altan. It was the way she’d seen Daji look at Riga—that look of wretched, desperate, and reproachful loyalty. It said, Do it. Take what you want, it said. I’ll hate you for it. But I’ll love you forever. I can’t help but love you. Ruin me, ruin us, and I’ll let you.

We don't die so much as we return to the void. We dissolve. We lose our ego. We change from being just one thing to becoming everything. Most of us, at least.

Our dead don't leave us. They'll hunt you as long as you let them.

Nothing is written," said the Phoenix. "You humans always think you're destinied for greatness. Destiny is a myth. Destiny is the only myth. The gods choose nothing. You chose. You chose to take the exam. You chose to come to Sinegard. You chose to pledge Lore, you chose to study the paths of the gods, and you chose to follow your commander's demands over your master's warnings. At every critical juncture you were given an option; you were given a way out. Yet you picked precisely the roads that led you here. You are at this temple, kneeling before me, only because you wanted to be.

This is a test, and Rin is failing, and his heart is breaking.

Life and death, they're equal to this cosmos. We enter the material world and we go away again, reincarnated into something better.

He knew exactly what choice she'd made and what she intended. And that made everything- hating her, loving her, surviving her, so much harder.

You will die thinking I have abandoned you all. But I do not hesitate to say that I value the lives of my people far more than I have ever valued you.

But I warn you, little warrior. The price of power is pain.

You don’t know who you’re dealing with.” She leaned down close until her lips brushed his skin, until her breath scorched the side of his face. “I’m not Sinegardian elite. I’m that savage mud-skinned Speerly bitch that wiped a country off the map. And sometimes when I get a little too angry, I snap.

They believe in a singular and all-powerful deity, which means they cannot accept the truth of other gods. And when nations start to believe that other beliefs lead to damnation, violence becomes inevitable.

All these years trying to find a way to kill himself, and here’s someone who might actually finish the job. And somehow, paradoxically, this is the most he’s ever wanted to be alive. This is the first time in an eternity that he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning

I think we’re about to be handed off,” Baji said. “It was nice knowing you all. Except you, Chaghan. You’re weird.

Let them think of us as dirt, Rin thought. She was dirt. Her army was dirt. But dirt was common, ubiquitous, and patient, and necessary. The soil gave life to the country. And the earth always reclaimed what it was owed.

Problem?” Nezha asked. “No, just a question. Have you ever considered being less of a pretentious fuck?

Sring Venka was a prim, spoiled Sinegardian princess turned lethal soldier turned brittle survivor; of course she’d walk into a war zone with red paint on her lips simply because she felt like it.

Theirs was a bond forged from necessity, hurt, and a shared, intimate understanding of hell.

She's the only divine thing he's ever believed in. The only creature in this vast, cruel land who could kill him. And sometimes, in his loveliest dreams, he imagines she does.

Amateurs obsessed over strategy, and professionals obsessed over logistics.

War was not a game, where one fought for honor and admiration, where masters would keep her from sustaining any real harm. War was a nightmare.

Ah. I get it.” Baji gave her a curious look. “You’re in love.” “Don’t be disgusting.

But how does the existence or nonexistence of the gods affect me? Why does it matter how the universe came to be?" "Because you're part of it. Because you exist. And unless you want to only ever be a tiny modicum of existence that doesn't understand its relation to the grander web of things, you will explore.

Hate was its own kind of fire and if you had nothing else, it kept you warm.

Sir?” Kitay asked. The magistrate turned to look at him. “What?” With a grunt, Kitay raised the crate over his head and flung it to the ground. It landed on the dirt with a hard thud, not the tremendous crash Rin had rather been hoping for. The wooden lid of the crate popped off. Out rolled several very nice porcelain teapots, glazed with a lovely flower pattern. Despite their tumble, they looked unbroken. Then Kitay took to them with a slab of wood. When he was done smashing them, he pushed his wiry curls out of his face and whirled on the sweating magistrate, who cringed in his seat as if afraid Kitay might start smashing at him, too. “We are at war,” Kitay said. “And you are being evacuated because for gods know what reason, you’ve been deemed important to this country’s survival. So do your job. Reassure your people. Help us maintain order. Do not pack your fucking teapots.

Jiang was wrong. She was not dabbling in forces she could not control, for the gods were not dangerous. The gods had no power at all, except what she gave them. The gods could affect the universe only through humans like her. Her destiny had not been written in the stars, or in the registers of the Pantheon. She had made her choices fully and autonomously. And though she called upon the gods to aid her in battle, they were her tools from beginning to end. She was no victim of destiny. She was the last Speerly, commander of the Cike, and a shaman who called the gods to do her bidding. And she would call the gods to do such terrible things.

They can't say her name in his presence. He's never made this a rule. But for some reason, none of them dare.

Well, fuck the heavenly order of things.

When she turned, she only saw one silhouette against the dark. Nezha had come alone. Unarmed. He always looked different in the moonlight. His skin shone paler, his features looked softer, resembling less the harsh visage of his father and more the lovely fragility of his mother. He looked younger. He looked like the boy she'd known at school

And you think you're on the brink of madness, you think that this moment is going to be when you finally snap, but it's not. "How do you know that?" "Because it gets easier every time. Eventually you learn to exist on the precipice of insanity.

She'd been so stupid to once think that if she ended the Federation then she'd ended the hurting. War didn't end, not so cleanly - it just kept building up in little hurts that piled on one another until they exploded afresh into raw new wounds.

There. A clear opening. Rin raised a leg and kicked out, hard. Her leg caught Nezha in midair with a satisfying whoomph. Nezha uttered an unnatural shriek and clutched his crotch, whimpering. The entire studio fell silent as all heads swiveled in their direction. Nezha clambered to his feet, scarlet-faced. “You—how dare you—” “Just as you said.” Rin dipped her head into a mocking bow. “I only know one kick.

You let me think you were dead.” “What did you want, a letter? It’s not like it was terribly easy to track you down, either.” “A letter would have been better than bombing my ship!” “Are you ever going to let that go?” “It’s rather a large thing to let go!

I command the Cike.” Chaghan looked sideways at her. His expression was grim. “You are going to paint the world in Altan’s blood, aren’t you?” “I’m going to find and kill everyone responsible,” said Rin. “You cannot stop me.” Chaghan laughed a dry, cutting laugh. “Oh, I’m not going to stop you.” He held out his hand. She grasped it, and the drowned land and the ash-choked sky bore witness to the pact between Seer and Speerly.

Her voice, thin and reedy, faded without echo into the frigid air. But she screamed it again, and then again, and then again. It felt so good to say that she'd survived, that she'd fucking finally come out on top, that she didn't even care that she was screaming to corpses.

A rational explanation eluded her. Because the answer could not be rational. It was not founded in military strategy. It was not because of a shortage of food rations, or because of the risk of insurgency or backlash. It was, simply, what happened when one race decided the other was insignificant.

—and I don’t care if you’re pissed, you can’t throw food at the Dragon Warlord, said Nezha. Kitay’s face was purple with anger. If he was at all relieved to see Nezha alive, he didn’t show it. “Your men tried to blow up my house!” “They tend to do that,” Rin said. “I was still in it!” Kitay cried. “And so we’re my ledgers!” Nezha looked amazed. “Who gives a shit about your ledgers?” “I was doing the city’s taxes.” “What?” Kitay stuck his lower lip out. “And I was almost done.

This isn’t a garden,” she said. “This is a drug farm.” Now she really wanted to meet the Lore Master. Kitay sat down next to her. “You know, the great shamans of legend used to ingest drugs before battle. Gave them magical powers, so the stories say.” He smiled. “You think that’s what the Lore Master teaches?” “Honestly?” Rin picked at the grass. “I think he just comes in here to get high.

She wondered if he was going to kiss her now. She didn't know much about being kissed, but if the old stories were anything to judge by, now seemed like a good time. The hero always took his maiden somewhere beautiful and declared his love under the stars. She would have liked Nezha to kiss her, too. She would have liked to share this final memory with him before she fled. But he only stared thoughtfully at her, his mind fixed on something she couldn't guess at.

His hand went into the skimmer's hull, an inch from her head. She didn't flinch. She turned her head slowly, trying to pretend her heart wasn't slamming against her chest. 'You missed,' she said calmly. Nehza pulled his hand away from the hull. Blood trickled down his knuckles from four crimson fots. She should have been afraid, but when she searched his face, she couldn't find a shred of anger. Just fear. She had no respect for fear. 'I don't want to hurt you,' he said. 'Of, trust me.' Her lip curled. 'You couldn't.

Many more will live,” Rin said, and she was nearly certain that it was true. And even if it wasn’t, she was willing to take that gamble. She knew she would bear full responsibility for the murders she was about to commit, bear the weight of them for as long as she lived. But it was worth it. For the sake of her vengeance, it was worth it. This was divine retribution for what the Federation had wreaked on her people. This was her justice. “They aren’t people,” she whispered. “They’re animals. I want you to make them burn. Every last one.” “And what will you give me in return?” inquired the Phoenix. “The price to alter the fabric of the world is steep.” What did a god, especially the Phoenix, want? What did any god ever want? “I can give you worship,” she promised. “I can give you an unending flow of blood.

Every November of my boyhood, we put on red poppies and attended highly patriotic services in remembrance of those who had 'given' their lives. But on what assurance did we know that these gifts had really been made? Only the survivors—the living—could attest to it. In order to know that a person had truly laid down his life for his friends, or comrades, one would have to hear it from his own lips, or at least have heard it promised in advance. And that presented another difficulty. Many brave and now dead soldiers had nonetheless been conscripts. The known martyrs—those who actually, voluntarily sought death and rejoiced in the fact—had been the kamikaze pilots, immolating themselves to propitiate a 'divine' emperor who looked (as Orwell once phrased it) like a monkey on a stick. Their Christian predecessors had endured torture and death (as well as inflicted it) in order to set up a theocracy. Their modern equivalents would be the suicide murderers, who mostly have the same aim in mind. About people who set out to lose their lives, then, there seems to hang an air of fanaticism: a gigantic sense of self-importance unattractively fused with a masochistic tendency to self-abnegation. Not wholesome. The better and more realistic test would therefore seem to be: In what cause, or on what principle, would you risk your life?