He stared at her fists and at her face and said with upset incredulity, "You promised me you would forgive me-" "Forgive you,"Tatiana hissed through her teeth, tears streaming down her face, "for your brave and indifferent face, Alexander!" She groaned in pain. "Not for your brave and indifferent heart.

With my writing, because I live it, I have to be consumed by it, and that means you have to forget your other life, which is constantly pulling you from your work.

Where was he, her Alexander, of once? Was he truly gone? The Alexander of the Summer Garden, of their first Lazarevo days, of the hat in his hands, white toothed, peaceful, laughing, languid, stunning Alexander, had he been left far behind? Well, Tatiana supposed that was only right. For Alexander believed his Tatiana of once was gone, too. The swimming child Tatiana of the Luga, of the Neva, of the River Kama. Perhaps on the surface they were still in their twenties, but their hearts were old.

Tania, last time in Morozovo, I let you go, but not this time. This time we live together or we die together.

Everything comes at a price. Everthing in your life. The question you have to ask yourself is, what price are you willing to pay?

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

He sent you to redeem me, to comfort me, and to heal me—and that’s just so far,” he added with a smile.