Boris Pasternak - quotes
Boris Pasternak
(born: February 10, 1890, Moscow, Russian Empire - died: May 30, 1960, Peredelkino, RSFSR, USSR)
Russian poet, writer and translator. One of the greatest poets of the 20th century. Pasternak published his first poems at the age of 23. In 1955, Pasternak finished writing the novel Doctor Zhivago.
The power of meanness and malice will be overcome by the spirit of goodness. The object of our adoration seems more like a victim to us, the more we love him.
Man is born to live, not to prepare for life.
You need to set yourself tasks that are higher than your strengths: firstly, because you never know them anyway, and secondly, because strength appears as you complete an unattainable task.
I don't like people who are indifferent to the truth.
“How good it is in the world! - he thought. “But why does it always hurt so much?”
All the people sent to us are our reflection. And they were sent so that we, looking at these people, correct our mistakes, and when we correct them, these people either change too or leave our lives.
Salvation does not lie in fidelity to forms, but in liberation from them.
With whom did his struggles take place? With yourself, with yourself.
To be a woman is a great step, to drive you crazy is heroism.
Here is the clamp, here is the arc, I am no longer your servant.
Only the greatest is inappropriate and untimely.
The main misfortune, the root of future evil, was the loss of faith in the value of one’s own opinion.
Everything is special this spring, the noise is livelier than sparrows. I don’t even try to express how light and quiet my soul is.
You try to do good to them, but they aim a knife in your ribs.
The future is the worst of all abstractions. The future never comes the way you expect it.
I knew two lovers who lived in Petrograd during the days of the revolution and did not notice it.
Belonging to a type is the end of a person, his condemnation.
There are people with talent. But now various circles and associations are very popular. Any herdism is a refuge for incompetence, no matter whether it is loyalty to Solovyov, or Kant, or Marx. Only individuals seek the truth and break with everyone who does not love it enough.
February. Get some ink and cry!
It was a dark rainy day in two colors. Everything illuminated seemed white, everything unlit seemed black. And in my soul there was the same darkness of simplification, without softening transitions and penumbra.
Why do I have such a fate that I see everything and worry so much about everything?
When he left, it seemed to her that the whole city became quiet and even fewer crows began to fly across the sky.
Even more than the community of souls, they were united by the abyss that separated them from the rest of the world. They were both equally displeased with everything fatally typical in modern man, his studied enthusiasm, noisy elation and that mortal winglessness that countless workers in the sciences and arts so diligently spread so that genius continues to remain a great rarity.
In everyday affairs, these enterprising, self-confident, commanding people are irreplaceable. In matters of the heart, cocky, mustachioed male complacency is disgusting.
I love you madly, madly, endlessly.
But let’s go crazy, my heart, if there’s nothing left for us but madness.
Revolutions are produced by effective people, one-sided fanatics, geniuses of self-restraint. They overthrow the old order in a few hours or days. Revolutions last weeks, many years, and then for decades, centuries, the spirit of limitation that led to the revolution is worshiped as a shrine.
I incredibly, passionately want to live, and to live means to always strive forward, to the highest, to perfection and to achieve it.
Oh, with what power, how insightfully felt in childhood, for the first time!
Oh, how sometimes you want to go from the mediocre, sublime, hopeless human speech into the seeming silence of nature, into the backbreaking silence of long, hard work, into the wordlessness of sound sleep, true music and a quiet heartfelt touch that is numb from the fullness of the soul!
She doesn’t want to be liked, to be beautiful, to be captivating. She despises this side of the feminine essence and, as it were, punishes herself for being so good. And this proud hostility towards herself increases her irresistibility tenfold.
What an irreparable nonentity one must be to play only one role in life, to occupy only one place in society, to mean only one thing!
Heating a stove is not like playing the piano. We need to learn.
War is a special link in the chain of revolutionary decades. The action of the reasons directly lying in the nature of the revolution ended. Indirect results began to show, the fruits of the fruits, the consequences of the consequences. Strengthening of character extracted from disasters, unspoiledness, heroism, readiness for the big, desperate, unprecedented. These qualities are fabulous, stunning, and they constitute the moral color of a generation.
“Do not touch, freshly painted,” - The soul was not taken care of, And the memory is stained on the calves and cheeks, And on the hands, and on the lips, and on the eyes.
All love is a transition to a new faith.
Touchy, quiet in everyday life, now you are all fire, all burning. Let me lock your beauty in the dark chamber of a poem.
Losing in life is more necessary than gaining. The grain will not sprout unless it dies.
I believe the time will come - The power of meanness and malice will be overcome by the spirit of goodness.
February. Get some ink and cry! Write about February sobbingly, While the thundering slush burns in the black spring.
Sanity? But he is like the moon for a sleepwalker. We are friends, but I am not his vessel.
I love you so much that even if I am careless and indifferent, you are so one of a kind, as if you have always been my sister, and first love, and wife, and mother, and everything that a woman was for me. You are That Woman.
Since childhood, I was surprised by this passion of the majority to be typical in some way, to necessarily represent some category or category, and not to be themselves. Where does this generation of typicality come from, so strong in our time? How can one not understand that typicality means the loss of soul and face, the death of fate and name!
Be transported to a place where the rain is even noisier than ink and tears.
Darling, it’s creepy! When a poet loves, the restless god falls in love.
The strongest pull in the world is to leave, and the passion for breaking up attracts.
Everything gets boring. Only you are not allowed to become familiar.
Taking off his hat, A hundred blinding photographs At night he took thunder as a souvenir.
In everything I want to get to the very essence. At work, looking for a way, In heartfelt turmoil.
I am defeated by them all, And only that is my victory.
I would bring the breath of roses, the breath of mint into poetry...
"Quiet!" - Someone shouted, unable to bear the silence.
The inability to find and tell the truth is a shortcoming that cannot be covered by any ability to tell lies.
When the light of God is not visible through the frost on the window, the hopelessness of melancholy is doubly similar to the desert of the sea.
The kiss was like summer. He hesitated and hesitated, Only then did a thunderstorm break out.
And I tried to make friends with people from the working rank, For which they did me honor, Considering me also a rag.
I am alone. Everything is drowning in pharisaism. Living life is not a field to cross.
It is customary for everyone to live and burn, But then you will only immortalize life, When you draw a path for it to light and greatness with Your sacrifice.
Stop me, try it. Come, try to extinguish this attack of sadness thundering today...
As if from a shelf, my life was taken out and the dust blew away.
No true book has a first page. Like a forest noise, it originates God knows where, and grows, and rolls, awakening the reserved wilds, and suddenly, in the darkest, most stunning and panicky moment, it speaks with all the peaks at once, having rolled.
Winter has been creeping into our prose with its ugliness since October. The heavens are falling to the ground, like a fringe of a curtain.
... Life doesn't wait. You won’t even look back during Christmas time. Only a short period, Look, the New Year is there.
But who are we and where are we from, When all those years of gossip remain, but we are not in the world.
Is everything real? Is it time to walk around? It's better to sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep forever and not dream.
Only the ordinary is fabulous when it is touched by the hand of a genius.
Taste teaches morality, but strength teaches taste.
The whole grief is that I love you, but you don’t love me. I try to find the meaning of this condemnation, to interpret, to justify, I rummage, I delve into myself, I go through our whole life and everything that I know about myself, and I don’t see the beginning and I can’t remember what I did and how I brought about this misfortune. You look at me somehow wrongly, with unkind eyes, you see me distorted, as if in a distorting mirror. I love you.
There is no need to love so thriftyly and hastily, as if out of fear that you might not have to love even more strongly later.
My unforgettable beauty! While the bends of my elbows remember you, while you are still on my hands and lips, I will stay with you. I will cry tears for you in something worthy that remains. I will record your memory in a tender, tender, achingly sad image. I'll stay here until this is done.
How good it is in the world! But why does it always hurt so much?
You cannot, day after day, act contrary to what you feel without health consequences; crucify yourself in front of what you don’t like, rejoice in what brings misfortune. Our nervous system is not an empty phrase, not a fiction. She is a physical body made of fibers. Our soul takes up space and fits into us like teeth in our mouth. She cannot be raped endlessly with impunity.
Isolated happiness is not happiness.
Art serves beauty, and beauty is the happiness of possessing form, while form is the organic key of existence, everything living must possess form in order to exist, and thus art is a story about the happiness of existence.
Disputes cannot be resolved with iron. Put your sword in its place, man.
An adult man must, gritting his teeth, share the fate of his native land.
For the inspirers of the revolution, the turmoil of change and reshuffle is the only natural element. Don’t feed them bread, but give them something on the scale of the globe. Building worlds and transitional periods are their ends in themselves. They haven’t studied anything else, they don’t know how to do anything.
It’s such a pleasure to listen to long, intelligent discussions in the snow.
A step forward in science is made according to the law of repulsion, with the refutation of prevailing misconceptions and false theories.
Consciousness is poison, a means of self-poisoning for the subject who uses it on himself.
But the fact of the matter is that for centuries it was not the stick that lifted man above the animals and carried him upward, but music: the irresistibility of unarmed truth, the attractiveness of its example.
What does it mean to be Jewish? Why does this exist? How is this unarmed challenge, which brings nothing but grief, rewarded or justified?
Loving others is a heavy cross.
The gift of love is like any other gift. He may be great, but without blessing he will not manifest.
The whole grief is that I love you, but you don’t love me.
All are decidedly mothers - the mothers of great people, and it is not their fault that life later deceives them.
Talent - in the highest broadest concept, is the gift of life.
Art, including tragic art, is a story about the happiness of existence.
Art is always, without ceasing, occupied with two things. It constantly reflects on death and relentlessly creates life through it.
The only thing in our power is to be able not to distort the voice of life that sounds within us.
One must attract goodness with goodness.
Revolutions last weeks, many years, and then for decades, centuries, the spirit of limitation that led to the revolution is worshiped as a shrine.
This is what makes life so scary. What does it stun with, thunder and lightning? No, sidelong glances and whispered slander. It's all tricky and ambiguous. And the vile and weak rule over the strong.
What is history? This is the establishment of centuries-old work on the consistent solution to death and its future overcoming. For this, mathematical infinity and electromagnetic waves are discovered, and symphonies are written for this.
The modesty of the rooms competed with comfort.
The future is not enough, the old is not enough, the new is not enough. Eternity must become like a Christmas tree in the middle of the room.
The world is music for which you need to find words!
From a series of many generations, someone comes forward. A genius comes as a harbinger of benefits and takes revenge for his departure with oppression.
Everything that really exists exists within the present.
I humiliated myself to the point of disbelief. I humiliated myself to the point of melancholy.
I am a disgusting person. Only bad things benefit me, and good things harm me. Really, I’m like a cancer that gets better in boiling water.
Years will pass, you will get married, you will forget the troubles.
Silence, you are the best of all I have heard.
Modern trends have imagined that art is like a fountain, whereas it is a sponge. They decided that art should hit, while it should suck and be saturated. They considered that it can be decomposed into means of representation, while it consists of the organs of perception. It should always be in the audience and look at everyone cleaner, more receptive and more faithful, but these days it has learned the powder, the dressing room and appears from the stage.
We all became people only to the extent that we loved people and had the opportunity to love.
Others, following the living trail, will follow your path inch by inch, But you yourself should not distinguish defeat from victory.
I loved you more than all the successes and troubles, Because the yellowed white light with you became whiter.
Is it possible that when they love, they humiliate?
Take your hand off my chest, We are live wires. To each other again, just look, He will inadvertently leave us.
Quotes about love parsnip
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Boris Leonidovich Pasternak (January 29 [February 10] 1890, Moscow - May 30, 1960, Peredelkino, Moscow region) - Russian writer, poet, translator, one of the greatest poets of the 20th century. Wikipedia.
To love so that your heart skips a beat, So that every breath is like the first time, So that your soul just warms up By the fire of your beloved, sweet eyes.
To love so much that for a minute of happiness you could give your life, so that, despite all the bad weather, you could still hope and wait.
So that every glance is like a revelation, Every kiss is like a gift from God. So that even the touch of a hair would ignite a fire in the heart. ...show full text...
All the people sent to us are our reflection. And they were sent so that we, looking at these people, correct our mistakes, and when we correct them, these people either change too or leave our lives (Boris Pasternak)
Learn to forgive... Pray for those who offend you, Conquer evil with a ray of goodness. Go without hesitation to the camp of those who forgive, While the Calvary star burns.
Learn to forgive when the soul is offended, And the heart is like a cup of bitter tears, And it seems that all kindness has been burned out. Remember how Christ forgave.
Learn to forgive, forgive not only in words, ... show full text ...
Don't listen to gossip about others. Avoid old pimps. Do not compare yourself with the enemy in anything, His example is not suitable.
The louder the noise about you, the more arrogant you remain silent. Don't complete someone else's lies with the shame of explanations.
Chalk, chalk all over the earth, to all limits. The candle was burning on the table, The candle was burning. . Like a swarm of midges flying towards the flames in summer, flakes from the yard flew towards the window frame. . Blizzard sculpted mugs and arrows on the table. The candle was burning on the table, The candle was burning. ...show full text...
Being famous is not nice. This is not what lifts you up. There is no need to start an archive, to tremble over manuscripts.
The goal of creativity is dedication, not hype, not success. It’s shameful, meaning nothing, to be a byword on everyone’s lips.
But we must live without imposture, to live in such a way that in the end we will attract the love of space to ourselves, and hear the call of the future. ...show full text...
There will be no one in the house, except at dusk. One Winter day in the through opening of Undrawn curtains. Only white wet clods, a quick glimpse of moss, only roofs, snow, and, except for roofs and snow, no one. And again it will draw frost, And again it will wrap me in Last year’s despondency And the affairs of winter are different. But suddenly a shiver of doubt runs through the curtain, - ... show full text ...
Silence - you are the best thing I've heard.
Don't run away from your love, don't destroy little happiness, don't say quietly: 'go away' when your soul is torn apart! do not run away from your love, do not build walls, they are not your salvation! Do not lie to yourself that you are free; those who love are doomed to imprisonment. Don’t run away from your love, give happiness to those around you! Don’t let envy and lies suddenly take over your hearts! do not run away from your love, and never leave it! ...show full text...
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