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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.

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
Long
Love
Forgetting
Short
Longer
Maybe
Forget
Certain

More quotes by Pablo Neruda

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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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so I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache.
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Poetry arrived in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where it came from, from winter or a river. I don't know how or when.
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And what importance do I have in the courtroom of oblivion?
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Death is the stone into which our oblivion hardens.
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In the distance someone is singing.
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From sorrow to sorrow love crosses its islands and establishes roots that are watered by weeping.
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Bitter love, a violet with it's crown of thorns in a thicet of spiky passions, spear of sorrow, corolla of rage: how did you come to conquer my soul? What brought you?
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And I watch my words from a long way off. They are more yours than mine. They climb on my old suffering like ivy.
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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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Tonight I can write the saddest lines...Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.
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He who does not travel, who does not read, who does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself, she who does not find grace in herself, dies slowly.
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Love is a clash of lightnings
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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.
Pablo Neruda
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Pale blind diver, luckless slinger, lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
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Maybe someone will know I didn't weave crowns to draw blood that I faught against mockery that I did fill the high tide of my soul with truth. I repaid vileness with doves.
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Where were you then? Who else was there? Saying what? Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly when I am sad and feel you are far away?
Pablo Neruda
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With which stars do they go on speaking,the rivers that never reach the sea?
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Laughter is the language of the soul.
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Then Scale by scale, We strip off The delicacy And eat The peaceful mush Of its green heart.
Pablo Neruda