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Thank you, she whispered, for keeping yourself alive, soldier. You're welcome, he whispered back.

Paullina Simons

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Paullina Simons
Age: 61
Born: 1963
Born: January 1
Translator
Writer
St. Petersburg
Back
Whispered
Keeping
Thank
Soldier
Welcome
Alive

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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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Love is when he is hungry and you feed him. Love is knowing when he is hungry.
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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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When I was growing up, 'Anna Karenina' was one of my favourite books.
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The power you have over someone who loves you is greater than any other power you'll ever have.
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I don't want this life to end, said Alexander. The good, the bad, the everything, the very old, to ever end.
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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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Tatiana had imagined her Alexander since she was a child, before she believed that someone like him was even possible. When she was a little girl, she dreamed of a fine world in which a good man walked its winding roads, perhaps somewhere in his wandering soul searching for her.
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I'll take your breath any way you give it to me, Shura.
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Courage, Alexan­der,” she whis­pered. “Courage, Ta­tiana.
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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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Courage, Alexander..... Courage, Tatiana
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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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Awash in a flood of hostility and despair, they battled and railed and shattered their bodies on one another, unable to find one strand, one sobering swallow of solace.
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Love is, to be loved,” said Alexander, “in return.
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Daughters are supposed to be friends to their mothers in their old age.
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But on that sunlit Sunday, Alexander knew nothing, thought nothing, imagined nothing. He forgot Dimitri and war and the Soviet Union and escape plans, and even America, and crossed the street for Tatiana Metanova.
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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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Alexander knew that before he had light instead of darkness, he had to deserve light instead of darkness.
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Tatiana, I love you. Do you hear me? I love you like I’ve never loved anyone in my whole life. Now, get up. For me, Tatia. For me, please get up and go take care of your sister. Go on. And I’ll take care of you.” His lips kissed her cheek.
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