If you want to know, life is the principle of self-renewal, it is constantly renewing and remaking and changing and transfiguring itself. Boris Pasternak More Quotes by Boris Pasternak More Quotes From Boris Pasternak As for the men in power, they are so anxious to establish the myth of infallibility that they do their utmost to ignore truth. Boris Pasternak myth anxious men Lara walked along the tracks following a path worn by pilgrims and then turned into the fields. Here she stopped and, closing her eyes, took a deep breath of the flower-scented air of the broad expanse around her. It was dearer to her than her kin, better than a lover, wiser than a book. For a moment she rediscovered the purpose of her life. She was here on earth to grasp the meaning of its wild enchantment and to call each thing by its right name, or, if this were not within her power, to give birth out of love for life to successors who would do it in her place. Boris Pasternak flower eye book It is not the object described that matters, but the light that falls on it. Boris Pasternak light writing fall The whole of life is symbolic because the whole of it has meaning. Boris Pasternak symbolic whole life-is Most people experience love, without noticing that there is anything remarkable about it. Boris Pasternak remarkable love people I come here to speak poetry. It will always be in the grass. It will also be necessary to bend down to hear it. It will always be too simple to be discussed in assemblies. Boris Pasternak assembly speak simple And now listen carefully. You in others-this is your soul. This is what you are. This is what your consciousness has breathed and lived on and enjoyed throughout your life-your soul, your immortality, your life in others. And what now? You have always been in others and you will remain in others. And what does it matter to you if later on that is called your memory? This will be you-the you that enters the future and becomes a part of it. Boris Pasternak soul matter memories Art is interested in life at the moment when the ray of power is passing through it. Boris Pasternak rays moments art And so it turned out that only a life similar to the life of those around us, merging with it without a ripple, is genuine life, and that an unshared happiness is not happiness. Boris Pasternak genuine-life genuine ripple Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation's tears in shoulder blades. Boris Pasternak running sweet night He realised, more vividly than ever before, that art had two constant, two unending preoccupations: it is always meditating upon death and it is always thereby creating life. Boris Pasternak creating-life death art Art is unthinkable without risk and spiritual self-sacrifice. Boris Pasternak sacrifice spiritual art How wonderful to be alive, he thought. But why does it always hurt? Boris Pasternak alive hurt doe A conscious attempt to fall asleep is sure to produce insomnia, to try to be conscious of one's own digestion is a sure way to upset the stomach. Consciousness is a poison when we apply it to ourselves. Consciousness is a light directed outward. it's like the headlights on a locomotive—turn them inward and you'd have a crash. Boris Pasternak light insomnia fall What is laid down, ordered, factual is never enough to embrace the whole truth: life always spills over the rim of every cup. Boris Pasternak truth inspirational life Good-bye... why am I hemorrhaging ? Boris Pasternak good-bye last-words bye What is history? Its beginning is that of the centuries of systematic work devoted to the solution of the enigma of death, so that death itself may eventually be overcome. That is why people write symphonies, and why they discover mathematical infinity and electromagnetic waves. Boris Pasternak symphony writing people And remember: you must never, under any circumstances, despair. To hope and to act, these are our duties in misfortune. Boris Pasternak despair remembers-you remember-you You fall into my arms. You are the good gift of destruction's path, When life sickens more than disease And boldness is the root of beauty - Which draws us together. Boris Pasternak roots life fall A corner draft fluttered the flame And the white fever of temptation Upswept its angel wings that cast A cruciform shadow. Boris Pasternak flames angel wings
