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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?

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
Others
Pass
Divided
Time
Leaving
Puts
Like
Along
Hidden
Perhaps
Burning
Dead
Innocent
Blood
Fingers
Ruthlessness
Faces
Shame
Erase
War
Killing
Killers

More quotes by Pablo Neruda

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If each day falls inside each night, there exists a well where clarity is imprisoned. We need to sit on the rim of the well of darkness and fish for fallen light with patience.
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I love you between shadow and soul. I love you as the plant that hasn't bloomed yet, and carries hidden within itself the light of flowers. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. Because of you, the dense fragrance that rises from the earth lives in my body, rioting with hunger for the eternity of our victorious kisses.
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Poetry arrived in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where it came from, from winter or a river. I don't know how or when.
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Death is the stone into which our oblivion hardens.
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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?
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Love! Love until the night collapses!
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Cómo se acuerda con los pájaros la traducción de sus idiomas?
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Am I allowed to ask my book / whether it's true I wrote it?
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When everything seems to be set to show me off as intelligent, the fool I always keep hidden takes over all that I say.
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I will bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
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I am made of earth, and my song made of words.
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Today is today, and yesterday is gone. There is no doubt.
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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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It was my destiny to love and say goodbye.
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Laughter is the language of the soul.
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And I watch my words from a long way off. They are more yours than mine. They climb on my old suffering like ivy.
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About me, nothing worse they will tell you, my love, than what I told you
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Love, how many roads to obtain a kiss.
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I have never thought of my life as divided between poetry and politics.
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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