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How wonderful to be alive, he thought. But why does it always hurt?

Boris Pasternak

Salvation lies not in the faithfulness to forms, but in the liberation from them.
BORIS PASTERNAK

Faith Form Liberty Loyalty Lying
The writer is the Faust of modern society, the only surviving individualist in a mass age. To his orthodox contemporaries he seems a semi-madman.
BORIS PASTERNAK

Himself Modern Society Survival Writing
I don’t like people who have never fallen or stumbled. Their virtue is lifeless and it isn’t of much value. Life hasn’t revealed its beauty to them.
BORIS PASTERNAK

Beautiful Fall Myself People Reveal Value Virtue
He was a natural, and in the Russian way, tragically above these banalities.
BORIS PASTERNAK

Himself Natural Tragedy
The unarmed power of naked truth.
BORIS PASTERNAK

Arm Naked One Liner Power Truth
Mother Russia is on the move, she can’t stand still, she’s restless and can’t find rest, she’s talking and she can’t stop.
BORIS PASTERNAK

Finding Herself Move Stand Stop
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

Arms Beautiful Bold Draw Fall Gift Goodness Togetherness Yourself
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

Burn Candle Deep Snow World
And why is it, thought Lara, that my fate is to see everything and take it all so much to heart?
BORIS PASTERNAK

Fate Feeling Heart Myself Sensitive
Literature is the art of discovering something extraordinary about ordinary people, and saying with ordinary words something extraordinary.
BORIS PASTERNAK

Art Discover Extraordinary Literature People Word
No bad man can be a good poet.
BORIS PASTERNAK

Bad Goodness Man One Liner Poet
In every generation there has to be some fool who will speak the truth as he sees it.
BORIS PASTERNAK

Fools Generation Himself Talk Truth
The whole wide world is a cathedral; I stand inside, the air is calm, And from afar at times there reaches My ear the echo of a psalm.
BORIS PASTERNAK

Calm Myself Reach Religious Stand World
But the division in him was a sorrow and a torment, and he became accustomed to it only as one gets used to an unhealed and frequently reopened wound.
BORIS PASTERNAK

Accustom Division Healing Sorrow Torture Wound
The most extraordinary discoveries are made when the artist is overwhelmed by what he has to say.
BORIS PASTERNAK

Artist Discover Himself
The last moments slipped by, one by one, irretrievable.
BORIS PASTERNAK

Moments Oneself

How wonderful to be alive, he thought. But why does it always hurt?

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How wonderful to be alive, he thought. But why does it always hurt?

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