The poet gives his whole life such a voluntarily steep incline that it is impossible for it to exist in the vertical line of biography where we expect to meet it. It is not to be found under his own name and must be sought under those of others, in the biographical columns of his followers. The more self-contained the individuality from which the life derives, the more collective, without any figurative speaking, is its story. Boris Pasternak
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatic, the lover and the poet Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, That is, the madman: the lover,...
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William Shakespeare
Maybe you could be mine / or maybe we’ll be entwined / aimless in this sexless foreplay.
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Jess C. Scott
For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. <span style="margin:15px; display:block"></span>Not like hermits who...
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Hermann Hesse
When Great Trees FallWhen great trees fall, rocks on distant hills shudder, lions hunker downin tall grasses, and even elephantslumber after safety. When great trees fallin forests, small things recoil into silence, their senseseroded beyond fear. When great souls die, the air around us becomeslight,...
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Maya Angelou
Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?
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Charles Bukowski
More Quotes By Boris Pasternak
You and I, it's as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent down to earth together, to see if we know what we were taught.
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.
The great majority of us are required to live a constant, systematic duplicity. Your health is bound to be affected by it if, day after day, you say the opposite of what you feel, you grovel before what you dislike and rejoice at what bring...
And so it turned out that only a life similar to the life of those around us, merging with it without a ripple, is genuine life, and that an unshared happiness is not happiness.
February. Get ink, shed tears. Write of it, sob your heart out, sing, While torrential slush that roars Burns in the blackness of the spring. Go hire a buggy. <span style="margin:15px; display:block"></span>For six grivnas, Race through the noice of bells and wheels To where the...
