Boris Pasternak Quotes

People tell me it's a sin, to know and feel too much within.

What's often in your heart is the hardest to reach.

She felt everything too deeply, it was like the world was too much for her.

I Know, I Alone I know, I alone How much it hurts, this heart With no faith nor law Nor melody nor thought. Only I, only I And none of this can I say Because feeling is like the sky - Seen, nothing in it to see.

I can't even tell you what else I imagined. I can only humiliate myself to such a degree; at a certain point it becomes humorous, and this story is not meant to be humorous. This story is meant to winch your ribs open and tamper with your heart. This story is meant to make you realize that your chances of happiness in this world are terribly slim if you lack a fine imagination.

Suffering is part and parcel of extensive intelligence and a feeling heart.

I'm a romantic, and we romantics are more sensitive to the way people feel. We love more, and we hurt more. When we're hurt, we hurt for a long time.

In my case Pilgrim's Progress consisted in my having to climb down a thousand ladders until I could reach out my hand to the little clod of earth that I am.

I've always internalized things.

I have written only what I have thought through, felt through and suffered through.

My biggest weakness is my sensitivity. I am too sensitive a person.

Whenever you're writing something that's reflective, you have to put yourself through some sort of ordeal just to understand the way you're feeling.

Everyone can teach themselves to cry... but sometimes you have just got to see that mental movie going on. You've got to be feeling it.

My whole life, I've been the one in my family that's always too emotional and too sensitive. That's, like, my role in my family.

I was a sensitive boy.

There was a sadness over me, a melancholy. That's always been a part of me - those are some of the things that lead you to the arts.

I am surprisingly very sensitive.

To understand just one life you have to swallow the world ... do you wonder, then, that I was a heavy child?

I am more sensitive than other people. Things that other people would not notice awaken a distinct echo in me, and in such moments of lucidity, when I look at myself, I see that I am alone, all alone, all alone.

A fitting room to me has always been like a confessional ... where my body and my contrition take up the entire room.

We are never more discontented with others than when we are discontented with ourselves. The consciousness of wrong-doing makes us irritable, and our heart, in its cunning, quarrels with what is outside it, in order that it may deafen the clamor within.

Every day I observe more and more the folly of judging of others by ourselves; and I have so much trouble with myself, and my own heart is in such constant agitation, that I am well content to let others pursue their own course, if they only allow me the same privilege.

Here, in my solitude, I have the feeling that I contain too much humanity.

Amid my list of blessings infinite, stands this the foremost, "that my heart has bled."

Can't get away from your own self.