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" "Resurrection. In the crude form in which it is preached to console the weak, it is alien to me. I have always understood Christ's words about the living and the dead in a different sense. Where could you find room for all these hordes of people accumulated over thousands of years? The universe isn't big enough for them; God, the good, and meaningful purpose would be crowded out. They'd be crushed by these throngs greedy merely for the animal life.
But all the time, life, one, immense, identical throughout its innumerable combinations and transformations, fills the universe and is continually reborn. You are anxious about whether you will rise from the dead or not, but you rose from the dead when you were born and you didn't notice it.
Boris Leonidovich Pasternak [Борис Леонидович Пастернак] (10 February 1890 – 30 May 1960) was a Russian poet and writer famous for his 1957 novel Doctor Zhivago. His first book of poems, My Sister, Life (1917), is one of the most influential collections ever published in the Russian language. He was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1958, an event which enraged the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, which forced him to decline the prize, though his descendants were later to accept it in his name in 1988.
Biography information from Wikiquote
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„Тя не държи да се харесва — мислеше си той, — да бъде красива, чаровна. Пренебрегва тази страна от женската същност и сякаш сама се наказва, задето е толкова хубава. И тази горда враждебност към себе си десеторно увеличава чара й.
Колко е хубаво всичко, което прави. Чете така, сякаш това не е висша човешка дейност, а е нещо най-просто, достъпно и за животните. Все едно носи вода или бели картофи.“
Покрай тези размишления докторът се поуспокои. Рядко спокойствие обзе душата му. Мислите му престанаха да бягат и да прескачат от едно на друго. Той се усмихна неволно.
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Zij was nog een meisje, een kind, maar in haar ogen en op haar gezicht kon je de waakzaamheid en de onrust van deze eeuw al aflezen. Alle thema's, alle tranen en beledigingen, alle beweegredenen, alle opgehoopte haat en trots van deze eeuw stonden op haar gezicht en postuur geschreven, in het mengsel ook van haar meisjesachtige bedeesdheid en haar vermetele gratie. Je kon uit haar naam en uit haar lippen de aanklacht tegen deze eeuw indienen en uitroepen. U zult moeten toegeven, dat dat geen kleinigheid was. Het had iets van een voorbeschikking, van een voorteken ook. Het was iets, waar zij van nature over beschikt moet hebben, iets waar zij recht op gehad moet hebben.