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The Return of the...
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Don Juan
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bookshelves: classics, currently-reading
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  (page 218 of 759)
"This author loves tangents." Jun 13, 2026 10:45PM

 
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Boris Pasternak
“Children are unconstrainedly sincere and not ashamed of the truth, while we, from fear of seeming backward, are ready to betray what’s most dear, to praise the repulsive, and to say yes to the incomprehensible.”
Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago

Boris Pasternak
“A constant, systematic dissembling is required of the vast majority of us. It’s impossible, without its affecting your health, to show yourself day after day contrary to what you feel, to lay yourself out for what you don’t love, to rejoice over what brings you misfortune. Our nervous system is not an empty sound, not a fiction. It’s a physical body made up of fibers. Our soul takes up room in space and sits inside us like the teeth in our mouth. It cannot be endlessly violated with impunity. It was painful for me to hear you tell about your exile, Innokenty, how you grew during it, and how it re-educated you. It's as if a horse were to tell how it broke itself in riding school.”
Boris Pasternak, Dr Zhivago

Boris Pasternak
“The kingdom of plants so easily offers itself as the nearest neighbor to the kingdom of death. Here, in the earth's greenery, among the trees of the cemetery, amidst the sprouting flowers rising up from the beds, are perhaps concentrated the mysteries of of transformation and and the riddles of life that we puzzle over. Mary at first did not recognize Jesus coming from the tomb and took him for the gardener walking in the cemetery.”
Boris Pasternak, Dr Zhivago

Boris Pasternak
“Farewell, my great and dear one, farewell, my pride, farewell, my swift, deep river, how I loved your daylong splashing, how I loved to throw myself into your cold waves.”
Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago

Banana Yoshimoto
“But when I pictured the world without me, and the people I loved living on in it, I couldn't help but feel like crying.
The only thing missing from these tableaux was me, but suddenly they looked much lonelier. And even if the hole I left was only temporary, until the other characters all moved on into the unknown future, the space where I belonged suddenly seemed to harbor a rare glow.
It felt as precious as trees, or sunlight, or cats I met on the street.
Astonished by this revelation, I looked up at the sky again and again. Here I was, with a body, looking up at the sky. I existed.
As beautiful as the sun setting in the distances, life lived inside this, the only body I would ever have.”
Banana Yoshimoto, Dead-End Memories: Stories

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