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Love! Love until the night collapses!

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
Collapses
Collapse
Night
Love

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O merry, merry, merry, like only dogs know how to be happy and nothing more, with an absolute shameless nature.
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Am I allowed to ask my book / whether it's true I wrote it?
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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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Oh to follow the road that leads away from everything, without anguish, death, winter waiting along it with their eyes open through the dew.
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Only a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness.
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To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.
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You can crush the flowers, but you can't stop the spring.
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We the mortals touch the metals, the wind, the ocean shores, the stones, knowing they will go on, inert or burning, and I was discovering, naming all the these things: it was my destiny to love and say goodbye.
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Then Scale by scale, We strip off The delicacy And eat The peaceful mush Of its green heart.
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I am made of earth, and my song made of words.
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Fue adondo a mi me perdieron quw logre por fin encontrarme? Was it where they lost me that I finally found myself?
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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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Cómo se acuerda con los pájaros la traducción de sus idiomas?
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I will bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
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The Truth is in the prolouge. Death to the romantic fool., the expert in solitary confinement.
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Shyness is a condition foreign to the heart - a category, a dimension which leads to loneliness.
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How much does a man live, after all?/ Does he live a thousand days, or one only? For a week, or for several centuries?/ How long does a man spend dying?/ What does it mean to say 'for ever'?
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When I sleep every night, what am I called or not called? And when I wake, who am I if I was not I while I slept?
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For now I ask no more Than the justice of eating.
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I have never thought of my life as divided between poetry and politics.
Pablo Neruda