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And Now Listen Carefully. You In Others-this Is Your Soul. This Is What You Are. This Is What Your Consciousness Has Breathed And Lived On And Enjoyed Throughout Your Life-your Soul, Your Immortality, Your Life In Others. And What Now? You Have Always Been In Others And You Will Remain In Others. And What Does It Matter To You If Later On That Is Called Your Memory? This Will Be You-the You That Enters The Future And Becomes A Part Of It.

-Boris Pasternak

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And Now Listen Carefully.

Boris Pasternak

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And Now Listen Carefully. You In Others-this Is Your Soul. This Is What You Are. This Is What Your Consciousness Has Breathed And Lived On And Enjoyed Throughout Your Life-your Soul, Your Immortality, Your Life In Others. And What Now? You Have Always Been In Others And You Will Remain In Others. And What Does It Matter To You If Later On That Is Called Your Memory? This Will Be You-the You That Enters The Future And Becomes A Part Of It.

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At The Moment Of Childbirth, Every Woman Has The Same Aura Of Isolation, As Though She Were Abandoned, Alone.

I Have Been Writing In Spurts, Bit By Bit. It Is Incredibly Difficult. Everything Is Corroded, Broken, Dismantled; Everything Is Covered With Hardened Layers Of Accumulated Insensitivity, Deafness, Entrenched Routine. It Is Disgusting.

Man Is Born To Live, Not To Prepare For Life.

He Is Her Glory. Any Woman Could Say It. For Every One Of Them, God Is In Her Child. Mothers Of Great Men Must Have Been Familiar With This Feeling, But Then, All Women Are Mothers Of Great Men -- It Isn't Their Fault If Life Disappoints Them Later.

I Used To Be Very Revolutionary, But Now I Think That Nothing Can Be Gained By Brute Force. People Must Be Drawn To Good By Goodness.

They Loved Each Other, Not Driven By Necessity, By The "blaze Of Passion" Often Falsely Ascribed To Love. They Loved Each Other Because Everything Around Them Willed It, The Trees And The Clouds And The Sky Over Their Heads And The Earth Under Their Feet.

I Love You Wildly, Insanely, Infinitely.

I Am Caught Like A Beast At Bay. Somewhere Are People, Freedom, Light, But All I Hear Is The Baying Of The Pack, There Is No Way Out For Me.

Reshaping Life! People Who Can Say That Have Never Understood A Thing About Life—they Have Never Felt Its Breath, Its Heartbeat—however Much They Have Seen Or Done. They Look On It As A Lump Of Raw Material That Needs To Be Processed By Them, To Be Ennobled By Their Touch. But Life Is Never A Material, A Substance To Be Molded. If You Want To Know, Life Is The Principle Of Self-renewal, It Is Constantly Renewing And Remaking And Changing And Transfiguring Itself, It Is Infinitely Beyond Your Or My Obtuse Theories About It.

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The Most Extraordinary Discoveries Are Made When The Artist Is Overwhelmed By What He Has To Say.

Poetry Is A Rich, Full-bodied Whistle, Cracked Ice Crunching In Pails, The Night That Numbs The Leaf, The Duel Of Two Nightingales, The Sweet Pea That Has Run Wild, Creation's Tears In Shoulder Blades.

Surprise Is The Greatest Gift Which Life Can Grant Us.

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You Are Eternity's Hostage A Captive Of Mine.

Oh, How One Wishes Sometimes To Escape From The Meaningless Dullness Of Human Eloquence, From All Those Sublime Phrases, To Take Refuge In Nature, Apparently So Inarticulate, Or In The Wordlessness Of Long, Grinding Labor, Of Sound Sleep, Of True Music, Or Of A Human Understanding Rendered Speechless By Emotion!

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Salvation Lies Not In The Faithfulness To Forms, But In The Liberation From Them.

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Oh, What A Love It Was, Utterly Free, Unique, Like Nothing Else On Earth! Their Thoughts Were Like Other People's Songs.

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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.

I Have The Impression That If He Didn't Complicate His Life So Needlessly, He Would Die Of Boredom.

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.

Love Is Not Weakness. It Is Strong. Only The Sacrament Of Marriage Can Contain It.

He Was A Natural, And In The Russian Way, Tragically Above These Banalities.

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No Single Man Makes History. History Cannot Be Seen Just As One Cannot See Grass Growing.

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And Now Listen Carefully. You In Others-this Is Your Soul. This Is What You Are. This Is What Your Consciousness Has Breathed And Lived On And Enjoyed Throughout Your Life-your Soul, Your Immortality, Your Life In Others. And What Now? You Have Always Been In Others And You Will Remain In Others. And What Does It Matter To You If Later On That Is Called Your Memory? This Will Be You-the You That Enters The Future And Becomes A Part Of It.

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... The Unarmed Power Of Naked Truth.

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Immensely Grateful, Touched, Proud, Astonished, Abashed.

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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.

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