Quote

Your house sounds like a train at midday, the wasps buzz, the saucepans sing, the waterfall enumerates the deeds of the dew . . .

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
Sing
Midday
Train
Wasps
Waterfall
Sound
Waterfalls
House
Dew
Like
Buzz
Deeds
Sounds

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When your hands leap towards mine, love, what do they bring me in flight?
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When did the lemons learn the same creed as the sun?
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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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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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Tell me, is the rose naked or is that her only dress? Why do trees conceal the splendor of their roots? Who hears the regrets of the thieving automobile? Is there anything in the world sadder than a train standing in the rain?
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I am everybody and every time, I always call myself by your name.
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But when I call for a hero, out comes my lazy old self so I never know who I am, nor how many I am or will be. I'd love to be able to touch a bell and summon the real me, because if I really need myself, I mustn't disappear.
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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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In love, you have loosened yourself like seawater
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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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Laughter is the language of the soul.
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I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything.
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If you no longer live, if you my beloved, my love, if you have died, all the leaves will fall in my breast, it will rain in my soul night and day, the snow will burn my heart, I shall walk with frost and fire and death and snow, my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping, but I shall live
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I want to do for you what the spring does for the cherry trees
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Sometimes a piece of sun burned like a coin in my hand.
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Without doubt I praise the wild excellence.
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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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O merry, merry, merry, like only dogs know how to be happy and nothing more, with an absolute shameless nature.
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You can crush the flowers, but you can't stop the spring.
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In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.
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