Poetry arrived in search of me. I don’t know, I don’t know where it came from, from winter or a river. I don’t know how or when.
PABLO NERUDAHour of nostalgia, hour of happiness, hour of solitude.
More Pablo Neruda Quotes
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Our love was born outside the walls, in the wind, in the night, in the earth, and that’s why the clay and the flower, the mud and the roots know your name.
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Then love knew it was called love. And when I lifted my eyes to your name, suddenly your heart showed me my way.
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I have named you queen. There are taller than you, taller. There are purer than you, purer. There are lovelier than you, lovelier. But you are the queen.
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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.
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Love, what a long way, to arrive at a kiss.
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Love, how many roads to obtain a kiss.
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Perhaps the earth can teach us As when everything seems dead And later proves to be alive.
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So I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
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I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.
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In the distance someone is singing.
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Love has to be flowering like the stars, and measureless as a kiss.
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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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It was my destiny to love and say goodbye.
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There is no space wider than that of grief.
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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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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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I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
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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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In the house of poetry nothing endures that is not written with blood to be heard with blood.
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Hour of nostalgia, hour of happiness, hour of solitude.
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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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From sorrow to sorrow love crosses its islands and establishes roots that are watered by weeping.
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The tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness.
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Your wide eyes are the only light I know from extinguished constellations.
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You are like night, calmed, constellated. Your silence is star-like, as distant, as true.
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The books that help you most are those which make you think that most.
PABLO NERUDA