Quote

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.

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
Problems
Fresh
Problem
Table
Soul
Tables
Live
Apart
Like
Bread
Blow
Clean
Wind
Crumble

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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'm not me but living matter fermenting and forming its own shapes in the fruitfulness of every day.
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Whom can I ask what I came to make happen in this world? Why do I move without wanting to, why am I not able to sit still? Why do I go rolling without wheels, flying without wings or feathers, and why did I decide to migrate if my bones live in Chile?
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Love is a clash of lightnings
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Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
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I have never thought of my life as divided between poetry and politics.
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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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I do not love you-except because I love you I go from loving to not loving you, from waiting to not waiting for you my heart moves from the cold into the fire.
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What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood?
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I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.
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With which stars do they go on speaking,the rivers that never reach the sea?
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Here I came to the very edge where nothing at all needs saying, everything is absorbed through weather and the sea, and the moon swam back, its rays all silvered, and time and again the darkness would be broken by the crash of a wave, and every day on the balcony of the sea, wings open, fire is born, and everything is blue again like morning.
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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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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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Hands make the world each day.
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I love you only because it's you the one I love I hate you deeply, and hating you Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.
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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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If each day falls inside each night, there exists a well where clarity is imprisoned. We need to sit on the rim of the well of darkness and fish for fallen light with patience.
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I am everybody and every time, I always call myself by your name.
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Give me your hand out of the depths sown by your sorrows.
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