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We came by night to the Fortunate Isles, And lay like fish Under the net of our kisses.

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
Fishes
Fortunate
Lays
Kissing
Came
Isles
Night
Isle
Love
Kisses
Like
Fish

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I got lost in the night, without the light of your eyelids, and when the night surrounded me I was born again: I was the owner of my own darkness.
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I ask permission to be like everybody else,like the rest of the world and what's more, like anybody else:I beg you, with all my heart,if we are talking about me, since we are talking about me,please resist blasting the trumpet during my visitand resign yourselves to my quiet absence.
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Pale blind diver, luckless slinger, lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
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sometimes i get up at dawn, and even my soul is wet.
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It was my destiny to love and say goodbye.
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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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In the distance someone is singing.
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Fue adondo a mi me perdieron quw logre por fin encontrarme? Was it where they lost me that I finally found myself?
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Love is a war of lightning, and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness.
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It was at that age that poetry came in search of me.
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I learned about life from life itself, love I learned in a single kiss and could teach no one anything except that I have lived with something in common among men.
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And what has become of it, where is that onetime love? Now it is the grave of a bird, a drop of black quartz, a chunk of wood eroded by the rain.
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When I sleep every night, what am I called or not called? And when I wake, who am I if I was not I while I slept?
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I stood on the balcony dark with mourning... hoping the earth would spread its wings in my uninhabited love.
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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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I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.
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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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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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Do tears not yet spilled wait in small lakes?
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I believed that the way passed through Man, and that it was from there that destiny had to emerge.
Pablo Neruda