Nikole Reining

“The door opened and the seven of them came out of the conference room. Alexander walked out last. He saw Tatiana struggle up from her chair, but she couldn’t stand without holding on to it, and she looked so alone and forsaken, he was afraid that she would break down in front of half a dozen strangers. Yet he wanted to say something to her, something to comfort her, and so slightly nodding his head, he said, “We are going home.” She inhaled, and her hand covered her mouth. 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, generals or no generals. She flung her arms around him, she embraced him, her wet face was in his neck. His head was bent to her, and her feet were off the ground.   Though much is taken, much abides; and though we are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are— Unyielding. Barrington, Leningrad, Luga, Ladoga, Lazarevo, Ellis Island, the mountains of Holy Cross, their lost families, their lost mothers and fathers, their brothers in arms and brothers are etched on their souls and their fine faces and like the mercurial moon, like Jupiter over Maui, like the Perseus galaxy with its blue, imploding stars they remain, as the stellar wind whispers over the rivers all run red, over the oceans and the seas, murmuring through the moonsilver skies… Tatiana… Alexander… But the bronze horseman is still.”
― Paullina Simons, Tatiana and Alexander

“Stefan, please, get to work.  Take a picture of this.
You want a photo? Of this?
War in all its ugliness.  A Pulitzer Prize awaits.
You want me to document a war crime? Your war crime?
Yes.  I do.
You understand they can’t be untaken.
Proceed.”
― John Payton Foden, Magenta

“I would like to travel light on this journey of life, to get rid of the encumbrances I acquire each day.”
― Madeleine L'Engle, The Irrational Season

“I am an apothecary, madam…’ But for some reason he is thinking of the trajectory of winged creatures, of interludes of happiness, a little flight, a little wading through mud.”
― Kate Rose, The Angel and the Apothecary