We have all become people according to the measure in which we have loved people and have had occasion for loving. Love is a powerful force that shapes us and defines who we are. When we love others, we open our hearts and souls, and in doing so, we allow ourselves to grow and change. Love gives us the opportunity to experience deep emotions, to connect with others on a profound level, and to make a difference in the world. It is through love that we learn to be kind, compassionate, and understanding. We become more patient, more forgiving, and more accepting of others. Love teaches us to look beyond our own needs and desires and to focus on the needs of those around us. It makes us better people, and it enriches our lives in ways that we could never have imagined.

There is no denying that Pasternak has an amazing gift for words and descriptions. His ability to paint vivid pictures with language is truly remarkable.

However, I find myself a bit disappointed with this book. While the descriptions are lush and detailed, I can't help but feel that the story or autobiography itself lacks substance.

It's great to see such beautiful language being used, but when the subject matter isn't all that interesting, it can come across as a bit stuffed and over-seasoned.

Moreover, when Pasternak shows equal aplomb in describing something as mundane as making a cup of tea as he does in falling in love with his language, it gives the impression of showmanship rather than true emotional depth.

Overall, while Pasternak's gift for words is undeniable, I wish the story or autobiography had been more engaging to truly do justice to his beautiful prose.

If you were to entrust a tree with the responsibility of overseeing its own growth, a rather interesting scenario might unfold. The tree could potentially deviate from the natural path of balanced development. It might choose to become all branch, focusing solely on the outward expansion and neglecting the importance of a strong root system. Or perhaps, it could disappear wholly into its roots, becoming so engrossed in the underground world that it forgets to reach for the sunlight and fulfill its role above ground. Another possibility is that it might squander all its energy on a single leaf, pouring all its resources into creating a magnificent but ultimately disproportionate appendage. In doing so, it would forget that the universe provides a model of harmony and balance that it should strive to emulate. After expending its efforts to produce one thing out of a thousand, it might then make the mistake of beginning to reproduce that one thing a thousand times, rather than diversifying and growing in a more sustainable and holistic manner.

Begun on Susan Sontag's recommendation, I embarked on reading Pasternak's work. However, I soon found his dense poetic style to be too slow and difficult to read. The words seemed to be intricately woven, making it a challenge to follow the flow of his thoughts. I knew that persevering with it might be very rewarding in the end, as it could potentially open up a whole new world of literary exploration. But, as usual, I got impatient. My mind started to wander and I began thinking, "I could be reading Andre Lorde!" Lorde's writing, I thought, might offer a different kind of experience, perhaps one that was more accessible and engaging. Nevertheless, I also felt a sense of guilt for not giving Pasternak's work a fair chance. I knew that I should probably push through the initial difficulties and see where it led me. But for now, my impatience was getting the better of me.

As an autobiographical text (and the first thing I've read from this author), I have been very pleasantly surprised by how he integrates his life experiences and thoughts with the clarity of the images he describes.

His language is so rich in sonority, which intrigues me about his poetry and I will undoubtedly explore it further.

The way he weaves together his personal story with vivid descriptions makes the reading both engaging and thought-provoking.

I look forward to delving deeper into his work and uncovering more of the gems hidden within his words.

It's rare to come across an author who can so effectively convey their inner world through language, and I'm excited to see where this exploration takes me.

Overall, this initial encounter has left me with a strong desire to read more of his work and discover the full extent of his literary talent.

I am not penning my autobiography. I only refer to it when a stranger demands it. Alongside its main character, I believe that only heroes merit a genuine biography, yet the history of a poet should not be presented in such a format. One would have to gather such a biography from unimportant details, which would involve concessions for compassion and constraint. The poet gives his entire life such a voluntary steep slope that it cannot exist in the vertical line of a biography where we anticipate encountering 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 stems, the more collective, without any figurative language, is its story. In a genius, the domain of the subconscious refuses to be measured. It consists of all that is happening to his readers and which he is unaware of. I do not offer my reminiscences to the memory of Rilke. On the contrary, I myself received them as a gift from him.

BP, SAFE CONDUCT, pp 26-27. I was led to this book by Elaine Feinstein's memoirs; she stated that it had kindled her interest in Marina Tsvetayeva, much of whose work she translated. However, SAFE CONDUCT spends a great deal more time on the impressiveness of Mayakovsky, whom Pasternak seemingly idolized while being one of his chief poetic competitors.

Later, it was of interest to me that, in one of his false starts, this being to study philosophy, he relocated to Marburg. I am curious if he was there when Benjamin and Heidegger, both of whom were studying philosophy, were, something I'll have to attempt to figure out:

"In the first place, it was independent, it uprooted everything from its very beginnings and constructed on a clear space. It did not accept the lazy routine of all conceivable 'isms,' which always adhere to their stock omniscience at tenth hand, are always ignorant, and always, for some reason or another, are afraid of a revision in the fresh air of age-old culture. Unencumbered by terminological inertia, the Marburg school turned to the primary origins, that is, the authentic signatures of thought, bequeathed by it to the history of thought....

"The second characteristic... derived directly from the first and consisted of its selective and exacting attitude towards historical development. That repugnant condescension towards the past was foreign to the school.... (p 41)

Pasternak introduces the reader to the prosperous family he (like Zhivago) came from, with family friends such as Scriabin (BP's first "career" was as a musician, but Scriabin gently dissuaded him from that). He also presents an occasional gem of a generality that showcases his perspicacity and the breadth of his interests. Leaving Marburg at the end of his philosophical pursuits, he remarks, "every love is a crossing over into a new faith" (p 63), as the transition from music to philosophy to... had been or would be.

There are also stories and poems compiled in this volume; I must say that the stories did not pique my interest, and I found the poems, translated by C M Bowra, a classicist, somewhat oddly conventionalized despite their surrealism.

Autobiography of Boris Pasternak which focuses more on his literary influences and his acquaintance with other Russian artists of his era such as Mayakovsky, Tsvetayeva, Pilnyak, etc. It is quite well-written and a bit romantic.

Boris Pasternak was a remarkable figure in Russian literature. His autobiography provides a fascinating insight into the literary world of his time.

He was deeply influenced by the works and ideas of his contemporaries. The relationship he had with other artists like Mayakovsky, Tsvetayeva, and Pilnyak was not only one of mutual respect but also a source of inspiration and exchange of creative ideas.

The autobiography is not just a record of his personal life but also a reflection of the literary and artistic trends of the era. It shows how Pasternak was able to absorb the different influences and create his own unique style.

Overall, it is a well-written and engaging piece that offers a valuable perspective on the life and works of one of Russia's greatest poets.

I truly wish that I had the ability to read Russian fluently.

Currently, I find it incredibly challenging to read Russian text sentence by sentence. It feels like an uphill battle, as I struggle to make sense of each word and phrase.

It has taken me many pages just to start getting in sync with the author's rhythm and flow.

As I am reading, I can't help but wonder about the impact of censorship.

How has it affected the literature and ideas that are being presented?

Has it limited the creativity and expression of Russian writers?

These are the questions that keep popping up in my mind as I continue to grapple with the Russian language and the texts I am trying to read.

I hope that one day, I will be able to overcome this language barrier and fully appreciate the rich and diverse literature that Russia has to offer.

This sentence "Tem uma das melhores cenas/retratos/qualquer coisa sobre o amor que já li." is in Portuguese and it means "It has one of the best scenes/portraits/whatever about love that I have ever read."

Let me expand this into an English article:

Love is a theme that has been explored in countless ways throughout literature. There are many beautiful depictions of love, but this particular one stands out. It has one of the best scenes/portraits/whatever about love that I have ever read. The author's use of language is so vivid and descriptive that it truly brings the moment to life. You can feel the emotions of the characters as if you were right there with them. It makes you believe in the power of love and how it can change people's lives. This is just one example of how literature can touch our hearts and make us see the world in a different way.

Whether it's a novel, a poem, or a short story, there is always something new and wonderful to discover about love through the written word.

It's truly very illuminating regarding his writing. The details and insights provided offer a valuable perspective on his literary works.

However, I couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment. My initial expectation was that this would delve deeper into how he accommodated himself to the Soviet system and his complex dealings with Stalinism. I had hoped to gain a more comprehensive understanding of the political and social context in which he operated and how it influenced his decisions and actions.

Perhaps there was more to his story that was left untold, or maybe the focus was intentionally shifted towards other aspects of his life and work. Nevertheless, while the information presented was interesting, it didn't quite meet the expectations I had set for myself.

Nonetheless, it still serves as a useful starting point for further exploration and study of his life and the era in which he lived.

This was largely a disappointment.

The autobiography, _Safe Conduct_, was indeed interesting and engaging in certain aspects. Having studied in Marburg myself, I vividly remember a marker indicating where Pasternak lived. This part of the narrative was quite captivating for me. Of course, the later sections dealing with Majakovsky and Ostap Mandelstam were also engaging, although the part about Mandelstam didn't present Pasternak in the most favorable light.

Yet, overall, the stories left me rather cold. To my mind, they seemed to lack a significant conflict and were more like portraits. In particular, "Letters from Tula" confused me. It appeared to describe a movie set, yet it was listed as being written in 1919, a time when such a thing would have been quite unusual.

I did, however, grow into the poetry. While I initially found the first poems difficult to engage with, some of the latter poems did move me. But it wasn't in a way that made me think I would be reading anything more by Pasternak in the near future.

Perhaps with more time and a deeper exploration, my perspective might change. But for now, my experience with Pasternak's work has been a bit of a mixed bag.

The four stars are awarded for the autobiography that might have been titled Marburg to Mayakovsky. Although I didn't have as much interest in the stories, the last one, The Childhood Of Luvers, was quite remarkable. Here, one can detect the smell of self-censorship. Additionally, I found the verse to be uneven. There was a sense that I was being led towards the Zhivago. However, I'm no longer certain that this will actually occur.

I do not hold you. Go, yes, go elsewhere,
Do good. Werther cannot be written again,
And in our time death’s odor is in the air:
To open a window is to open a vein.

These lines seem to convey a sense of release and the recognition that certain things, like the story of Werther, cannot be replicated. In our current era, there is an intangible but palpable presence of death, as if opening a window is equivalent to opening a vein, perhaps suggesting a vulnerability or a sense of being exposed to something dark and unknown.