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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.

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
Lasts
Last
Saddest
Pain
Verses
Write
Tonight
Makes
Suffer
Writing
Lines
Though
Suffering

More quotes by Pablo Neruda

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Nobody can claim the name of Pedro, nobody is Rosa or María, all of us are dust or sand, all of us are rain under rain. They have spoken to me of Venezuelas, of Chiles and Paraguays I have no idea what they are saying. I know only the skin of the earth and I know it has no name.
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Who do I belong to? How come I mortgaged my being till I don't belong to myself? How come I sold my blood? And who now owns my indecisions, my hands, my private pain, my pride?
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Love is a war of lightning, and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness. Kiss by kiss I cover your tiny infinity, your margins, your rivers, your diminutive villages, and a genital fire, transformed by delight, slips through the narrow channels of blood to precipitate a nocturnal carnation, to be, and be nothing but light in the dark.
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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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My soul is an empty carousel at sunset.
Pablo Neruda
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Tomorrow we will only give them a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf which will fall on the earth like if it had been made by our lips like a kiss which falls from our invincible heights to show the fire and the tenderness of a true love.
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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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Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Pablo Neruda
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What can I say without touching the earth with my hands?
Pablo Neruda
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Look around—there's only one thing of danger for you here—poetry.
Pablo Neruda
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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
Pablo Neruda
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Hands make the world each day.
Pablo Neruda
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Without doubt I praise the wild excellence.
Pablo Neruda
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I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.
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Your house sounds like a train at midday, the wasps buzz, the saucepans sing, the waterfall enumerates the deeds of the dew . . .
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Your wide eyes are the only light I know from extinguished constellations.
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The typewriter separated me from a deeper intimacy with poetry, and my hand brought me closer to that intimacy again.
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In the distance someone is singing.
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Death is the stone into which our oblivion hardens.
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I spin on the circle of wave upon wave of the sea.
Pablo Neruda