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

More quotes by Pablo Neruda

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Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance. Don't leave me for a second, my dearest.
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Love! Love until the night collapses!
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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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About me, nothing worse they will tell you, my love, than what I told you
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sometimes i get up at dawn, and even my soul is wet.
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As slippery as smooth grapes, words exploding in the light like dormant seeds waiting in the vaults of vocabulary, alive again, and giving life: once again the heart distills them.
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Take bread away from me, if you wish, take air away, but do not take from me your laughter.
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Sometimes a piece of sun burned like a coin in my hand.
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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.
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Am I allowed to ask my book / whether it's true I wrote it?
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I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.
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Pale blind diver, luckless slinger, lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
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Love is the mystery of water and a star.
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Perhaps this war will pass like the others which divided us leaving us dead, killing us along with the killers but the shame of this time puts its burning fingers to our faces. Who will erase the ruthlessness hidden in innocent blood?
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What did the earth teach the trees? How to speak to the sky.
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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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I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything, I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic shops, and courtyards with washing hanging from the line: underwear, towels and shirts from which slow dirty tears are falling.
Pablo Neruda
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Day-colored wine, night-colored wine, wine with purple feet or wine with topaz blood, wine, starry child of earth.
Pablo Neruda
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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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Donde termina el arco iris, en tu alma o en el horizonte? Where does the rainbow end, in your soul or on the horizon?
Pablo Neruda