It is not the object described that matters, but the light that falls on it. Boris Pasternak More Quotes by Boris Pasternak More Quotes From Boris Pasternak You and I are like the first two people on earth who at the beginning of the world had nothing to cover themselves with - at the end of it, you and I are just as stripped and homeless. And you and I are the last remembrance of all that immeasurable greatness which has been created in all the thousands of years between their time and ours, and it is in memory of all that vanished splendour that we live and love and weep and cling to one another. Boris Pasternak greatnessmemoriesyears At the moment of childbirth, every woman has the same aura of isolation, as though she were abandoned, alone. Boris Pasternak aurasisolationmoments No single man makes history. History cannot be seen, just as one cannot see grass growing. Wars and revolutions, kings and Robespierres, are history's organic agents, its yeast. But revolutions are made by fanatical men of action with one-track mind, geniuses in their ability to confine themselves to a limited field. They overturn the old order in a few hours or days, the whole upheaval takes a few weeks or at most years, but the fanatical spirit that inspired the upheavals is worshiped for decades thereafter, for centuries. Boris Pasternak kingsmenwar As far as modern writing is concerned, it is rarely rewarding to translate it, although it might be easy. Translation is very much like copying paintings. Boris Pasternak copyingwritingmight Immensely grateful, touched, proud, astonished, abashed. Boris Pasternak touchedgratefulproud It´s a good thing when a man is different from your image of him. Is shows he isn´t a type. If he were, it would be the end of him as a man. But if you can´t place him in a category, it means that at least a part of him is what a human being ought to be. He has risen above himself, he has a grain of immortality. Boris Pasternak differentmenmean The last moments slipped by, one by one, irretrievable. Boris Pasternak lastsmoments Oh, how one wishes sometimes to escape from the meaningless dullness of human eloquence, from all those sublime phrases, to take refuge in nature, apparently so inarticulate, or in the wordlessness of long, grinding labor, of sound sleep, of true music, or of a human understanding rendered speechless by emotion! Boris Pasternak understandingsleeplong Art always serves beauty, and beauty is the joy of possessing form, and form is the key to organic life since no living thing can exist without it. Boris Pasternak keysjoyart Only the solitary seek the truth, and they break with all those who don't love it sufficiently Boris Pasternak doctor-zhivagosolitarybreak It snowed and snowed, the whole world over, Snow swept the world from end to end. A candle burned on the table; A candle burned. Boris Pasternak tablessnowworld But who are we, where do we come from When all those years Nothing but idle talk is left And we are nowhere in the world?" = MEETING = Boris Pasternak idleworldyears Departure beyond the borders of my country is for me equivalent to death. Boris Pasternak borderscountrydeath It is no longer possible for lyric poetry to express the immensity of our experience. Life has grown too cumbersome, too complicated. We have acquired values which are best expressed in prose. Boris Pasternak immensitylyric-poetrycomplicated I think that if the beast who sleeps in man could be held down by threats of any kind, whether of jail or retribution, then the highest emblem of humanity would be the lion tamer, not the prophet who sacrificed himself.... What for centuries raised man above the beast is not the cudgel but the irresistible power of unarmed truth. Boris Pasternak sleepmenthinking That's metaphysics, my dear fellow. It's forbidden me by my doctor, my stomach won't take it. Boris Pasternak dear-godstomachdoctors An unshared happiness is not happiness. Boris Pasternak We must discover security within ourselves. Boris Pasternak securityanticipation Farewell, my great one, my own, farewell, my pride, farewell, my swift, deep, dear river, how I loved your daylong splashing, how I loved to plunge into your cold waves. Boris Pasternak saying-goodbyefarewellpride He was a natural, and in the Russian way, tragically above these banalities. Boris Pasternak banalitynaturalway
