“The weary Italian woman nodded at her children behind her. “Where we came from, everybody lives only one kind of life. Alessandro said he wanted his children to choose the life, not the life to choose the children. And also,” she added, panting, slowing down and wiping her brow, “he said America is the only place in the world where even the poor can be smart.”

“Never forget where you came from, Gina Attaviano, Alessandro said to her before he died. Then it will always be easy.”

“They came with their children, for no one left the children behind - it was for the children they had come, wanting to give them the halls of American, the streets, the seasons, the New York of America.”

“All she had to do was stay where she was, go on as she was.But there was no Tatiana here. Tatiana remained with Alexander. Her arms were around him in LakeLadoga, where she lay down with him every night. Her arms were holding him bleeding out into the LakeLadoga ice. She could have let go of him then, could have given him to God; God was certainly callingfor him.But she didn’t.And because she didn’t, she was here in America, sitting on the ledge of the rest of her life. It certainlyfelt that way, that seminal moment where she knew that whatever her decision, her life would take eitherone course or it would take another.One way the path was plain and vivid.And the other was black and fraught with doubt”

“Tatiana...you and I had only one moment..." said Alexander. "A single moment in time, in your time and mine...one instant, when another life could have still been possible." He kissed her lips. "Do you know what I'm talking about?" When Tatiana looked up from her ice cream, she saw a soldier staring at her from across the street."I know that moment," whispered Tatiana.”

“He came over in long pur­pose­ful strides, sat at the edge of her bed, and in a ten­der, pos­ses­sive ges­ture wiped the lip­stick off her lips. “What is that?” he asked.“All the other girls wear it,” Ta­tiana said, quickly wip­ing her mouth, breath­less at the sight of him. “In­clud­ing Dasha.”“Well, I don’t want you to have any­thing on your lovely face,” he said, stroking her cheeks. “God knows, you don’t need it.”

“In Alexander's life there was one thread that could not be broken by death, by distance, by time, by war. Could not be broken. As long as I am in the world, she said with her breath and her body, as long as I am, you are permanent, soldier.”