To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.— Pablo Neruda
The most interesting Pablo Neruda quotes that are new and everybody is talking about
Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.
And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.
Only a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness.
If nothing saves us from death, may love at least save us from life.
Let us forget with generosity those who cannot love us
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.
Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance. Don't leave me for a second, my dearest.
Your wide eyes are the only light I know from extinguished constellations.
By night, Love, tie your heart to mine, and the two together in their sleep will defeat the darkness
My soul is an empty carousel at sunset.
You can crush the flowers, but you can't stop the spring.
And I, infinitesimal being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, I felt myself a pure part of the abyss, I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind.
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
Laughter is the language of the soul.
I love all the things there are, and of all fires love is the only inexhaustible one; and that's why I go from life to life.
All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.
I love you between shadow and soul. I love you as the plant that hasn't bloomed yet, and carries hidden within itself the light of flowers. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. Because of you, the dense fragrance that rises from the earth lives in my body, rioting with hunger for the eternity of our victorious kisses.
As if you were on fire from within. The moon lives in the lining of your skin.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
And it follows that I am, because you are: it follows from 'you are', that I am, and we: and, because of love, you will, I will, we will, come to be.
At night I dream that you and I are two plants that grew together, roots entwined, and that you know the earth and the rain like my mouth, since we are made of earth and rain.
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.
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.
Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together, the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart.
Conspirators in pajamas who exchange deep kisses for passwords.
There were thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
There were grief and the ruins, and you were the miracle.
You are like nobody since I love you.
I don’t love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz or arrow of carnations that propagate fire: I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
Loving is a journey with water and with stars, with smothered air and abrupt storms of flour: loving is a clash of lightning-bolts and two bodies defeated by a single drop of honey.
I need the sea because it teaches me
Give me silence, water, hope Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes.
I got lost in the night, without the light of your eyelids, and when the night surrounded me I was born again: I was the owner of my own darkness.
Let us look for secret things somewhere in the world on the blue shore of silence or where the storm has passed rampaging like a train. There the faint signs are left, coins of time and water, debris ,celestial ash and the irreplaceable rapture of sharing in the labour of soitude in the sand.
The tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness.
Green was the silence, wet was the light, the month of June trembled like a butterfly.
I love all things, not only the grand but the infinitely small: thimble, spurs, plates, flower vases.
Shyness is a condition foreign to the heart - a category, a dimension which leads to loneliness.
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.
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.
He who has nothing—it has been said many times—has nothing to lose but his chains.
Under your skin the moon is alive.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.
We have to discard the past / and, as one builds / floor by floor, window by window, / and the building rises, / so do we keep shedding - first, broken tiles, / then proud doors... and each new day / gleams / like an empty / plate.
I like on the table, when we're speaking, the light of a bottle of intelligent wine.
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
I am a book of snow, a spacious hand, an open meadow, a circle that waits, I belong to the earth and its winter.
You came to my life with what you were bringing, made of light and bread and shadow I expected you, and Like this I need you, Like this I love you, and to those who want to hear tomorrow that which I will not tell them, let them read it here, and let them back off today because it is early for these arguments.