"The best poet is the man who delivers our daily bread: the local baker."
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Quote collection
Pablo Neruda quotes (page 12 of 15)
289 quotes — follow a thought to its full quote page.
"Hands make the world each day."
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"I've come within range of hate. Terrifying, its tremors, its dizzying obsessions. Hate's like a swordfish invisible in the water, knifing suddenly into sight with blood on its blade- clear water misleads you."
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"I want to see thirst In the syllables, Tough fire In the sound; Feel through the dark For the scream."
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"Love has to be…flowering like the stars, and measureless as a kiss."
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"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."
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"Once more I am the silent one who came out of the distance wrapped in cold rain and bells: I owe to earth's pure death the will to sprout."
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"Love is a clash of lightnings"
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"I think it was very informative, but a lot still needs to be done."
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"How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running. So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans."
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"Over your breasts of motionless current, over your legs of firmness and water, over the permanence and the pride of your naked hair I want to be, my love, now that the tears are thrown into the raucous baskets where they accumulate, I want to be, my love, alone with a syllable of mangled silver, alone with a tip of your breast of snow."
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"You can say anything you want, yessir, but it's the words that sing, they soar and descend...I bow to them...I love them, I cling to them, I run them down, I bite into them, I melt them down...I love words so much...The unexpected ones...The ones I wait for greedily or stalk until, suddenly, they drop."
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"And what has become of it, where is that onetime love? Now it is the grave of a bird, a drop of black quartz, a chunk of wood eroded by the rain."
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"Between lips and lips there are cities of great ash and moist summit, drops of when and how, vague comings and goings: between lips and lips as along a shore of sand and glass the wind passes."
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"How much does a man live, after all?/ Does he live a thousand days, or one only? For a week, or for several centuries?/ How long does a man spend dying?/ What does it mean to say 'for ever'?"
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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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"Cómo se acuerda con los pájaros la traducción de sus idiomas?"
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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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"De pronto no puedo decirte lo que yo te debo decir, hombre,perdóname; sabrás que aunque no escuches mis palabras no me eché a llorar ni a dormir y que contigo estoy sin verte desde hace tiempo y hasta el fin. I can't just suddenly tell you what I should be telling you, friend, forgive me; you know that although you don't hear my words, I wasn't asleep or in tears, that I am with you without seeing you for a good long time and until the end."
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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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