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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

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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
Wet
Mermaids
Climbs
Mermaid
Invisible
Awakens
Rose
Foam
Blood
Dances
Fire
Tunnel
Made
Tunnels
Love
Stairs
Sleeplessness

More quotes by Pablo Neruda

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I move in the university of the waves.
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About me, nothing worse they will tell you, my love, than what I told you
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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 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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Where were you then? Who else was there? Saying what? Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly when I am sad and feel you are far away?
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I'm not me but living matter fermenting and forming its own shapes in the fruitfulness of every day.
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To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.
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Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
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I am made of earth, and my song made of words.
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As slippery as smooth grapes, words exploding in the light like dormant seeds waiting in the vaults of vocabulary, alive again, and giving life: once again the heart distills them.
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What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood?
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I have never thought of my life as divided between poetry and politics.
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Look around—there's only one thing of danger for you here—poetry.
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In this part of the story I am the one who dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you, because I love you, Love, in fire and in blood.
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A child who does not play is not a child, but the man who doesn't play has lost forever the child who lived in him and who he will miss terribly.
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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 want to do for you what the spring does for the cherry trees
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The bare earth, plantless, waterless, is an immense puzzle. In the forests or beside rivers everything speaks to humans. The desert does not speak. I could not comprehend its tongue its silence...
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Without doubt I praise the wild excellence.
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I believed that the way passed through Man, and that it was from there that destiny had to emerge.
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