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Give me silence, water, hope Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes.

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
Hope
Give
Giving
Volcanoes
Iron
Silence
Struggle
Water

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I am made of earth, and my song made of words.
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You can crush the flowers, but you can't stop the spring.
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Take bread away from me, if you wish, take air away, but do not take from me your laughter.
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Pale blind diver, luckless slinger, lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
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About me, nothing worse they will tell you, my love, than what I told you
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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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I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.
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To feel the affection that comes from those whom we do not know ... widens out the boundaries of our being, and unites all living things.
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And what has become of it, where is that onetime love? Now it is the grave of a bird, a drop of black quartz, a chunk of wood eroded by the rain.
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What did the tree learn from the earth to be able to talk with the sky?
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The morning is full of storm in the heart of summer. The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye, the wind, travelling, waving them in its hands. The numberless heart of the wind beating above our loving silence. Orchestral and divine, resounding among the trees like a language full of wars and songs.
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I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.
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I got lost in the night, without the light of your eyelids, and when the night surrounded me I was born again: I was the owner of my own darkness.
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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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Love is a war of lightning, and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness.
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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.
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I'm not me but living matter fermenting and forming its own shapes in the fruitfulness of every day.
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Love has to be…flowering like the stars, and measureless as a kiss.
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Sometimes a piece of sun burned like a coin in my hand.
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I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest. I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty.
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