War of the Rats Quotes

“God is about fear, a way to make you afraid and obey. The man of the forest is without fear.”
― David L. Robbins, War of the Rats: A Novel

“She wrenched her eyes shut, squinting in a spasm as the ice inside her fissured and cracked open. Instantly she flew up through it; the water, no longer frozen but warmed now, fell from her, cascaded out of her closed eyes, down her cheeks, into his scooping lips. She flew out and above herself, her body left behind to convulse in his arms. She looked down and saw everything around her, the corpses and hatred, and shame, all of it, out in the open now, shimmering and cleansed in her raining tears. Zaitsev held her. His arms were wings, freeing her from the ice, flying her high into the cloudburst, into the wind blowing through the ruins of the city beneath her, soaking in her rain.”
― David L. Robbins, War of the Rats: A Novel

“She took his hand. “Today Yuri died. But he was already dead. He died last night when he came across that river. You died, too. I died a year ago in Minsk when the Nazis murdered my grandparents. I died of shame when my own parents would not come with me to save them. Do you understand?” Fedya took her hand. The rims of his eyes reddened. He blinked. A tear welled in his eye. “This is what the politrooks are telling us,” she continued. “The NKVD, Red Star, the Party—everywhere we turn, the message is the same. You are dead. You have no life. The Germans have taken it. They have trampled it.” Tania reached to Fedya’s face, smearing the tear with her finger. “Fedushka, there’s nothing anymore for the individual. Not love. Not fear. Not family. We’re not alive. Nothing we do matters. We’re like ghosts who can’t touch anything. The only time we appear, the only time we’re real, is when we’re killing the Germans. When we’re not killing them, we do not exist.”
― David L. Robbins, War of the Rats: A Novel

“I’m a writer,” he said, taking the cheese. “What do you write about, Fedya?” the older soldier asked. “Love stories. Poems.” He shrugged. “What can I write about? I’m Russian. My choices are love, government, or murder.” “Write about Stalin and you’ll have all three.”
― David L. Robbins, War of the Rats: A Novel