Failure to love is almost like murder.
BORIS PASTERNAKMother 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.
More Boris Pasternak Quotes
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If it’s so painful to love and absorb electricity, how much more painful it is to be a woman, to be the electricity, to inspire love.
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We must discover security within ourselves.
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In this era of world wars, in this atomic age, values have changed. We have learned that we are guests of existence, travelers between two stations. We must discover security within ourselves.
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I have the impression that if he didn’t complicate his life so needlessly, he would die of boredom.
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Immensely grateful, touched, proud, astonished, abashed.
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And why is it, thought Lara, that my fate is to see everything and take it all so much to heart?
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How many things in the world deserve our loyalty? Very few indeed. I think one should be loyal to immortality, which is another word for life, a stronger word for it.
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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.
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Departure beyond the borders of my country is for me equivalent to death.
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No deep and strong feeling, such as we may come across here and there in the world, is unmixed with compassion. The more we love, the more the object of our love seems to us to be a victim.
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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 -
As in an explosion, I would erupt with all the wonderful things I saw and understood in this world.
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They don’t ask much of you. They only want you to hate the things you love and to love the things you despise.
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Art has two constant, two unending concerns: It always meditates on death and thus always creates life. All great, genuine art resembles and continues the Revelation of St John.
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During the last years of Mayakovski’s life, when all poetry had ceased to exist . . . literature had stopped.
BORIS PASTERNAK