The typewriter separated me from a deeper intimacy with poetry, and my hand brought me closer to that intimacy again. — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
When your hands leap towards mine, love, what do they bring me in flight? — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
I am a book of snow, a spacious hand, an open meadow, a circle that waits, I belong to the earth and… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest. I want to eat the sunbeams flaring… — 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
Only do not forget, if I wake up crying it's only because in my dream I'm a lost child hunting through the… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
The morning is full of storm in the heart of summer. The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye, the wind, travelling,… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
I love all things, not because they are passionate or sweet-smelling but because, I don't know, because this ocean is yours, and… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
This time is difficult. Wait for me. We will live it out vividly. Give me your small hand: we will rise and… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
You must know that I do not love and that I love you, because everything alive has its two sides; a word… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
Maybe nothingness is to be without your presence, without you moving, slicing the noon like a blue flower, without you walking later… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
This time is difficult, wait for me: we will live it out vividly. Give me your small hand: we will rise and… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
Writing poetry, we live among the wild beasts, and when we touch a man, the stuff of someone in whom we believed,… — Pablo Neruda Copy Share Image
I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love… — 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
