Lara walked along the tracks following a path worn by pilgrims and then turned into the fields. Here she stopped and, closing her eyes, took a deep breath of the flower-scented air of the broad expanse around her. It was… — Boris Pasternak Copy Share Image
“The path trodden by wayfarers and pilgrims followed the railway and then turned into the fields. Here Lara stopped, closed her eyes and took a good breath of the air which carried all the smells of the huge countryside. It… — Boris Pasternak Copy Share Image
“The saddest thing of all was that their party represented a deviation from the conditions of the time. It was impossible to imagine that… — Boris Pasternak Copy Share Image
No deep and strong feeling, such as we may come across here and there in the world, is unmixed with compassion. The more we… — Boris Pasternak Copy Share Image
Art has two constant, two unending concerns: It always meditates on death and thus always creates life. All great, genuine art resembles and continues… — Boris Pasternak Copy Share Image
I think that if the beast who sleeps in man could be held down by threats of any kind, whether of jail or retribution,… — Boris Pasternak Copy Share Image
And so it turned out that only a life similar to the life of those around us, merging with it without a ripple, is… — Boris Pasternak Copy Share Image
I come here to speak poetry. It will always be in the grass. It will also be necessary to bend down to hear it.… — Boris Pasternak Copy Share Image
“I'll stay with you a little, my unforgettable delight, for as long as my arms and my hands and my lips remember you. I'll… — Boris Pasternak Copy Share Image
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… — Boris Pasternak Copy Share Image
I don't like purely philosophical works. I think a little philosophy should be added to life and art by way of seasoning, but to… — Boris Pasternak Copy Share Image
“But sometimes, to enable her to bear her life, she needed the accompaniment of an inward music and she could not always compose it… — Boris Pasternak Copy Share Image
