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I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything.
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
Walks
Forgetting
Eyes
Hiking
Forget
Wander
Eye
Rage
Serenely
Everything
Shoes
Stroll
Walking
Sauntering
Along
Trekking
Journey
Strolling
More quotes by Pablo Neruda
Then Scale by scale, We strip off The delicacy And eat The peaceful mush Of its green heart.
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Without doubt I praise the wild excellence.
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I love you only because it's you the one I love I hate you deeply, and hating you Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.
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If suddenly you do not exist, If suddenly you are not living, I shall go on living. I do not dare, I do not dare to write it, if you die. I shall go on living.
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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.
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Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance climbed up through my conscious mind as if suddenly the roots I had left behind cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood - and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.
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I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
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Only a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness.
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I was the owner of my own darkness.
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I want to do for you what the spring does for the cherry trees
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For now I ask no more Than the justice of eating.
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Give me your hand out of the depths sown by your sorrows.
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You can crush the flowers, but you can't stop the spring.
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The Truth is in the prolouge. Death to the romantic fool., the expert in solitary confinement.
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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?
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The Ardent Hymn that Unites Peoples.
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In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.
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Like a jar you housed the infinite tenderness, and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.
Pablo Neruda
Take bread away from me, if you wish, take air away, but do not take from me your laughter.
Pablo Neruda
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.
Pablo Neruda