In the house of poetry nothing endures that is not written with blood to be heard with blood. — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
Day-colored wine, night-colored wine, wine with purple feet or wine with topaz blood, wine, starry child of earth... — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood? Que diran de mi poesia los que no tocaron mi… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
The darkness of a day elapsed, of a day nourished with our sad blood. — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
Oh love, rose made wet by mermaids and foams, fire that dances and climbs up the invisible stairs and awakens the blood… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
I've come within range of hate. Terrifying, its tremors, its dizzying obsessions. Hate's like a swordfish invisible in the water, knifing suddenly… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
In this part of the story I am the one who dies, the only one, and I will die of love because… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
Perhaps this war will pass like the others which divided us leaving us dead, killing us along with the killers but the… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
Maybe someone will know I didn't weave crowns to draw blood; that I faught against mockery; that I did fill the high… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
Love is a war of lightning, and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness. Kiss by kiss I cover your tiny infinity,… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
I do not love you except because I love you; I go from loving to not loving you, From waiting to not… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
The word was born in the blood, grew in the dark body, beating, and took flight through the lips and the mouth.… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
Hate is like a swordfish, working through water invisibly and then you see it coming with blood along its blade, but transparency… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
Who do I belong to? How come I mortgaged my being till I don't belong to myself? How come I sold my… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
For me writing is like breathing. I could not live without breathing and I could not live without writing. — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
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,… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
“I remember only a day that was perhaps never intended for me, it was an incessant day, without origins, Thursday. I was a man… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
“We had, as men, time So our thirst could slowly be satisfied, the ancestral longing to enumerate things and sum them up, to render… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
I don't know who it is who lives or dies, who rests or wakes, but it is your heart that distributes all the graces… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
“Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs, you look like a world, lying in surrender. My rough peasant's body digs in you and… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
We open the halves of a miracle, and a clotting of acids brims into the starry divisions: creation's original juices, irreducible, changeless, alive: so… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
“Take bread away from me, if you wish, take air away, but do not take from me your laughter. Do not take away the… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
Perhaps the earth can teach us As when everything seems dead And later proves to be alive — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
“I am no longer in love with her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.” — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
