No single man makes history. History cannot be seen just as one cannot see grass growing.
BORIS PASTERNAKAnd why is it, thought Lara, that my fate is to see everything and take it all so much to heart?
More Boris Pasternak Quotes
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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.
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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 -
That’s metaphysics, my dear fellow. It’s forbidden me by my doctor, my stomach won’t take it.
BORIS PASTERNAK -
You are eternity’s hostage A captive of mine.
BORIS PASTERNAK -
No bad man can be a good poet.
BORIS PASTERNAK -
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 -
Most people experience love, without noticing that there is anything remarkable about it.
BORIS PASTERNAK -
He was a natural, and in the Russian way, tragically above these banalities.
BORIS PASTERNAK -
The most extraordinary discoveries are made when the artist is overwhelmed by what he has to say.
BORIS PASTERNAK -
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 -
How wonderful to be alive, he thought. But why does it always hurt?
BORIS PASTERNAK -
When a great moment knocks on the door of your life, it is often no louder than the beating of your heart, and it is very easy to miss it.
BORIS PASTERNAK -
Even so, one step from my grave, I believe that cruelty, spite, The powers of darkness will in time Be crushed by the spirit of light.
BORIS PASTERNAK -
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 -
During the last years of Mayakovski’s life, when all poetry had ceased to exist . . . literature had stopped.
BORIS PASTERNAK