Book: Doctor Zhivago. Page 6

All the grief that I love you and you don't love me. I am trying to find the meaning of this judgment, to interpret, to justify, rummage, dig yourself out the rest of our life and all that I currently know and do not see and can not remember what I did and what brought this misfortune. You are somehow wrong, evil eyes looking at me, you see me distorted as in a distorting mirror.
And I love you. Oh, how I love you, if only you could imagine! I love everything special about you, everything is advantageous and disadvantageous, all ordinary your hand, expensive in their extraordinary connection, gentrified inner content entity that may be, it would seem ugly, talent and mind, as if a place completely absent of will. To me everything is expensive, and I don't know the person better than you.
But Hey, you know what I told you? Even if you weren't so dear to me, if you hadn't loved me to such an extent, it is still an unfortunate truth of my coldness would not open for me, I still would think that I love you. One of the fear of a humiliating, debasing punishment dislike, I was instinctively careful to understand that I don't love you. Neither I nor you would never know. My own heart would have concealed it from me, because the dislike is almost like murder, and I'm not in forces was to strike this blow.

She didn't say anything, did not think. A series of thoughts, community, knowledge, reliability freely swept, drove through it like clouds across the sky and as during their previous night of talking. That is what happened, and bring happiness and liberation. Negrone, hot, each other to inspire knowledge. Instinctive, immediate.
Such knowledge was complete and she was now a dark, indistinct knowledge of death, preparedness for it, lack of confusion in front of her. Though she is already twenty times lived in the light, and lost of Yuri Zhivago and has a experience of heart on this matter, so that everything she felt and did beside this coffin was vpopad and by the way.
About what it was love, freestyle, unprecedented, like no other! They thought, as the others sing.
They loved each other not out of inevitability, not "scorched by passion," as it is falsely portrayed. They loved each other because both wanted all around: the earth beneath, the sky above their heads, clouds and trees. Their love was like the others more, maybe more than his own. Strangers on the streets, dropped out for a walk the children to the rooms where they lived and met.
Ah here it is here because it was the main thing that their mother and were United! Never, never, even in moments of the endowment, forgetful of happiness never left their highest and exciting: enjoyment of the common modeling world, a sense of unesennoe themselves to the entire picture, the sense of beauty of the spectacle, to the entire universe.
They breathed only the consistency. And therefore the exaltation of man over the rest of nature, fashion nanana with him and chelovechestvo they are not attracted. About the beginning of the public who turned into politics, seemed to them a pitiful doodeling remained unclear.