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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.
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
Eye
Leads
Death
Winter
Away
Road
Everything
Follow
Without
Along
Open
Eyes
Dew
Waiting
Anguish
More quotes by Pablo Neruda
From sorrow to sorrow love crosses its islands and establishes roots that are watered by weeping.
Pablo Neruda
I have never thought of my life as divided between poetry and politics.
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The books that help you most are those which make you think that most. The hardest way of learning is that of easy reading but a great book that comes from a great thinker is a ship of thought, deep freighted with truth and beauty.
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Hands make the world each day.
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I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest. I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty.
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We came by night to the Fortunate Isles, And lay like fish Under the net of our kisses.
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Today is today, and yesterday is gone. There is no doubt.
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How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running. So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.
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About me, nothing worse they will tell you, my love, than what I told you
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Once more I am the silent one who came out of the distance wrapped in cold rain and bells: I owe to earth's pure death the will to sprout.
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To feel the affection that comes from those whom we do not know ... widens out the boundaries of our being, and unites all living things.
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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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When your hands leap towards mine, love, what do they bring me in flight?
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I had no more alphabet than the journeying of the swallows, the pure and tiny water of the small, fiery bird that dances rising from the pollen.
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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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I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.
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I think it was very informative, but a lot still needs to be done.
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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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I am a book of snow, a spacious hand, an open meadow, a circle that waits, I belong to the earth and its winter.
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I say love, and the world populates itself with doves.
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