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Dear God, Tatiana prayed in bed that night, turning to the wall and pulling the white sheet and the thin brown blanket over herself. If You are there somewhere, please teach me how to hide what I never knew how to show.

Paullina Simons

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Paullina Simons
Age: 61
Born: 1963
Born: January 1
Translator
Writer
St. Petersburg
Never
Wall
Pulling
Please
Thin
Knew
Hide
Teach
Turning
Show
Brown
Sheet
White
Bed
Prayed
Night
Somewhere
Blanket
Shows
Dear
Sheets

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I tend to be a great optimist when it comes to the United States and the American way of life, I think precisely because I wasn't born into it.
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Alexander smoked and watched her from his tree stump bench. What are you doing? she would ask him. Nothing, he would reply. Nothing but growing my pain into madness.
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Whenever you're unsure of yourself, whenever you're in doubt, ask yourself three questions. What do you believe in? What do you hope for? but most important, ask yourself, what do you love?
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I'm not hungry, Alexander whispered. I'm famished. Watch out for me. Now, don't make a single sound, he said, moving on top of her. Tania, God....I'll cover your mouth, just like this, and you hold on to me, just like this, and I'm going to-just like this-
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Memory - that fiend, that cruel enemy of comfort.
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Courage, Alexander..... Courage, Tatiana
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There is a very definite Russian heart in me that never dies. I think you're born and you live your life with it and you die with it. I'm very much an American - my books tend to be about American things, but inside there's that sort of tortured, long-suffering, aching, constantly analysing Russian soul underneath the happy American exterior.
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Ask yourself these three questions, Tatiana Metanova, and you will know who you are. Ask: What do believe in? What do you hope for? What do you love?
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Tania, there is so much still ahead of you. Be patient with life
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You are my hand grenade, my artillery fire. You have replaced my heart with yourself.
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I love you. I'm blind for you, wild for you. Sick with you. I told you that our first night together when I asked you to marry me, I am telling you now. Everything that's happened to us, everything, is because I crossed the street for you. I worship you. You know that through and through.
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We’ll meet again in Lvov, my love and I…” Tatiana hums, eating her ice cream, in our Leningrad, in jasmine June, near Fontanka, the Neva, the Summer Garden, where we are forever young.
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And then, because she was Tatiana and because she couldn’t help herself, and because he wouldn’t have it any other way, she ran to him and was in his arms.
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We can’t forget that I owe you my life.” She gazed at him. “We can’t forget that I belong to you.” “I like that sound of that,” Alexander said, hugging her tighter.
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Tatiana realized she was too young to hide well what was in her heart but old enough to know that her heart was in her eyes.
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I'll take your breath any way you give it to me, Shura.
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Daughters are supposed to be friends to their mothers in their old age.
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Love is, to be loved,” said Alexander, “in return.
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I was blinded by stupidity for a brief moment in our life, for a flicker in the eternity in which you and I live, and I stumbled.
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When Tatiana looked up from her ice cream, she saw a soldier staring at her from across the street.
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