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Shyness is a condition foreign to the heart - a category, a dimension which leads to loneliness.
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
Condition
Shyness
Conditions
Category
Heart
Dimension
Categories
Dimensions
Foreign
Leads
Loneliness
More quotes by Pablo Neruda
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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Love has to be…flowering like the stars, and measureless as a kiss.
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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.
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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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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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Laughter is the language of the soul.
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I have never thought of my life as divided between poetry and politics.
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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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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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I have slept with you all night long while the dark earth spins with the living and the dead, and on waking suddenly in the midst of the shadow my arm encircled your waist. Neither night nor sleep could separate us.
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A book, a book full of human touches, of shirts, a book without loneliness, with men and tools, a book is victory.
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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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What did the tree learn from the earth to be able to talk with the sky?
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I move in the university of the waves.
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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.
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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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Your wide eyes are the only light I know from extinguished constellations.
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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.
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I love all things, not only the grand but the infinitely small: thimble, spurs, plates, flower vases.
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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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