To feel the affection that comes from those whom we do not know, widens out the boundaries of our being, and unites all living things.
PABLO NERUDAOnly a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness.
More Pablo Neruda Quotes
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Love, what a long way, to arrive at a kiss.
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I like on the table, when we’re speaking, the light of a bottle of intelligent wine.
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I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.
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I have never thought of my life as divided between poetry and politics.
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All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are.
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But I love your feet only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me.
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Like them you are tall and taciturn, and you are sad, all at once, like a voyage.
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What did the earth teach the trees? How to speak to the sky.
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Tonight I can write the saddest lines I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
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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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We are dust and to dust return. In the end we’re neither air, nor fire, nor water, just dirt, neither more nor less, just dirt, and maybe some yellow flowers.
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We must dream our way.
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From sorrow to sorrow love crosses its islands and establishes roots that are watered by weeping.
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It was my destiny to love and say goodbye.
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In the distance someone is singing.
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You are like nobody since I love you.
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For me writing is like breathing. I could not live without breathing and I could not live without writing.
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The birds of night peck at the first stars that flash like my soul when I love you.
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Today is today, and yesterday is gone. There is no doubt.
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While I’m writing, I’m far away; and when I come back, I’ve gone.
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Everything is ceremony in the wild garden of childhood.
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Love has to be flowering like the stars, and measureless as a kiss.
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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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I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.
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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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Love is the mystery of water and a star.
PABLO NERUDA