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The road made wet by the water of August shines like it was cut in full moonlight
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
Wet
Shining
Road
Cutting
Full
Water
Moonlight
Made
Shines
Like
August
More quotes by Pablo Neruda
When did the lemons learn the same creed as the sun?
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Like a jar you housed the infinite tenderness, and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.
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I have slept with you all night long while the dark earth spins with the living and the dead, and on waking suddenly in the midst of the shadow my arm encircled your waist. Neither night nor sleep could separate us.
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Oh each successive night that comes has something in it of an abandoned ember that is slowly burning out, and it falls swathed in ruins, surrounded by funereal objects.
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In the distance someone is singing.
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My soul is an empty carousel at sunset.
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Sometimes a piece of sun burned like a coin in my hand.
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Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
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In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.
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I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.
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Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.
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Cómo se acuerda con los pájaros la traducción de sus idiomas?
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I spin on the circle of wave upon wave of the sea.
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Poetry is an act of peace.
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I walked around as you do, investigating the endless star, and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked, the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind.
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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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What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood?
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There were thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit. There were grief and the ruins, and you were the miracle.
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Love is the mystery of water and a star.
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Love has to be…flowering like the stars, and measureless as a kiss.
Pablo Neruda
