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A child who does not play is not a child, but the man who doesn't play has lost forever the child who lived in him and who he will miss terribly.

Pablo Neruda

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Pablo Neruda
Age: 69 †
Born: 1904
Born: July 12
Died: 1973
Died: September 23
Author
Autobiographer
Diplomat
Lyricist
Poet
Politician
Senator Of Chile
Nieh-lu-ta
Neftalí Reyes Basoalto
Pamplo Nerouda
Neftalí Ricardo Reyes
Bāblū Nīrūdā
Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto
Nieluda
Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto
Neftali Reyes Basualto
Neftali Reyes Basoalto
Neftali Ricardo Reyes
Neftalí Reyes Basualto
Pāplō Nerūda
Forever
Child
Lost
Doesn
Childlike
Doe
Terribly
Play
Miss
Children
Lived
Men
Missing

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I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
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Donde termina el arco iris, en tu alma o en el horizonte? Where does the rainbow end, in your soul or on the horizon?
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What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood?
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When everything seems to be set to show me off as intelligent, the fool I always keep hidden takes over all that I say.
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On our earth, before writing was invented, before the printing press was invented, poetry flourished. That is why we know that poetry is like bread it should be shared by all, by scholars and by peasants, by all our vast, incredible, extraordinary family of humanity.
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I say love, and the world populates itself with doves.
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You & I, Love, together we ratify the silence, while the sea destroys its perpetual statues, collapses its towers of wild speed and whiteness: because in the weavings of those invisible fabrics, galloping water, incessant sand, we make the only permanent tenderness.
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I think it was very informative, but a lot still needs to be done.
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And our problems will crumble apart, the soul / blow through like a wind, and here where we live will all be clean again, with fresh bread on the table.
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When your hands leap towards mine, love, what do they bring me in flight?
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Will our life not be a tunnel between two vague clarities? Or will it not be a clarity between two dark triangles?
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Green was the silence, wet was the light, the month of June trembled like a butterfly.
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I move in the university of the waves.
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For now I ask no more Than the justice of eating.
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When did the lemons learn the same creed as the sun?
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Love, how many roads to obtain a kiss.
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I learned about life from life itself, love I learned in a single kiss and could teach no one anything except that I have lived with something in common among men.
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I believed that the way passed through Man, and that it was from there that destiny had to emerge.
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sometimes i get up at dawn, and even my soul is wet.
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Perhaps this war will pass like the others which divided us leaving us dead, killing us along with the killers but the shame of this time puts its burning fingers to our faces. Who will erase the ruthlessness hidden in innocent blood?
Pablo Neruda