Quote

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.

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
Heart
Vocabulary
Life
Smooth
Like
Seeds
Distills
Alive
Vaults
Waiting
Exploding
Words
Dormant
Light
Slippery
Giving
Grapes

More quotes by Pablo Neruda

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For now I ask no more Than the justice of eating.
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Love, what a long way, to arrive at a kiss.
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Like a jar you housed the infinite tenderness, and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.
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Look around—there's only one thing of danger for you here—poetry.
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I built up these lumber piles of love, and with fourteen boards each I built little houses, so that your eyes, which I adore and sing to, might live in them. Now that I have declared the foundations of my love, I surrender this century to you: wooden sonnets that rise only because you gave them life.
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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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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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Love is the mystery of water and a star.
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Love is a war of lightning, and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness. Kiss by kiss I cover your tiny infinity, your margins, your rivers, your diminutive villages, and a genital fire, transformed by delight, slips through the narrow channels of blood to precipitate a nocturnal carnation, to be, and be nothing but light in the dark.
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Poetry is an act of peace.
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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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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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In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.
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Laughter is the language of the soul.
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Tonight I can write the saddest lines...Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.
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The tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness.
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Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
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Am I allowed to ask my book / whether it's true I wrote it?
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I have never thought of my life as divided between poetry and politics.
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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.
Pablo Neruda