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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.
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
Thirst
Ruins
Hunger
Fruit
Miracle
Grief
More quotes by Pablo Neruda
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?
Pablo Neruda
He who does not travel, who does not read, who does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself, she who does not find grace in herself, dies slowly.
Pablo Neruda
What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood?
Pablo Neruda
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.
Pablo Neruda
Oh love, rose made wet by mermaids and foams, fire that dances and climbs up the invisible stairs and awakens the blood in the tunnel of sleeplessness.
Pablo Neruda
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body... and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
Pablo Neruda
Bitter love, a violet with it's crown of thorns in a thicet of spiky passions, spear of sorrow, corolla of rage: how did you come to conquer my soul? What brought you?
Pablo Neruda
Today is today, and yesterday is gone. There is no doubt.
Pablo Neruda
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.
Pablo Neruda
I am a book of snow, a spacious hand, an open meadow, a circle that waits, I belong to the earth and its winter.
Pablo Neruda
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.
Pablo Neruda
It was my destiny to love and say goodbye.
Pablo Neruda
Only a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness.
Pablo Neruda
What can I say without touching the earth with my hands?
Pablo Neruda
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles, And lay like fish Under the net of our kisses.
Pablo Neruda
I don't know who it is who lives or dies, who rests or wakes, but it is your heart that distributes all the graces of the daybreak in my breast.
Pablo Neruda
Sometimes a piece of sun burned like a coin in my hand.
Pablo Neruda
With which stars do they go on speaking,the rivers that never reach the sea?
Pablo Neruda
Love, how many roads to obtain a kiss.
Pablo Neruda
Political poetry is more profoundly emotional than any other-at least as much as love poetry-and cannot be forced because then it becomes vulgar and unacceptable. It is necessary first to pan though all other poetry in order to become a political poet.
Pablo Neruda
