Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
Old women can see through walls.
Death laid its eggs in the wound
My tongue is pierced with glass.
...I am the immense shadow of my tears
Life is laughter amid a rosary of death.
To see you naked is to recall the Earth.
We're all curious about what might hurt us.
Only mystery allows us to live, only mystery.
Death, lonely death, Beneath the withered leaves.
Even money, which shines so much, spits sometimes.
Death, vicious death, Leave a green branch for love.
Every step we take on earth brings us to a new world.
Green how I want you green. Green wind. Green branches.
As I have not worried to be born, I do not worry to die.
At the heart of all great art is an essential melancholy.
Little black horse. Where are you taking your dead rider?
The bride, the white bride today a maiden, tomorrow a wife.
My poetry is a game. My life is a game. But I am not a game.
In the garden I will die. In the rosebush they will kill me.
Understand one single day fully, so you can love every night.
Besides black art, there is only automation and mechanization.
The important thing in life is to let the years carry us along.
Those who are afraid of death will carry it on their shoulders.
Moon like a large stainedglass window that breaks on the ocean.
Everything's a fan. Brother, open up your arms. God is the pivot.
I want to be a poet, from head to toe, living and dying by poetry.
In our eyes the roads are endless. Two are crossroads of the shadow.
The day we stop resisting our instincts, we'll have learned how to live.
A dead man in Spain is more alive than a dead man anywhere in the world.
I've often lost myself, in order to find the burn that keeps everything awake
A poet must be a professor of the five senses and must open doors among them.
Fire is fed by fire. The same small flame destroys Two stalks of wheat at once.
The groom is like a flower of gold. When he walks, blossoms at his feet unfold.
In Spain, the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country in the world.
The mirror is the mother dew, the book of desiccated twilights, echo become flesh.
Today in my heart a vague trembling of stars and all roses are as white as my pain.
If blue is dream what then innocence? What awaits the heart if Love bears no arrows?
My head is full of fire and grief and my tongue runs wild, pierced with shards of glass.
Love is the kiss in the quiet nest while the leaves are trembling, mirrored in the water.
My God, I have come with the seeds of questions. I planted them, and they never flowered.
Adam & Eve. The serpent cracked the mirror in a thousand pieces, & the apple was his rock.
Hail, mute devil! You are the most intense animal. An eternal mystic of the fleshly inferno.
To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.
Not for a moment, beautiful aged Walt Whitman, have I failed to see your beard full of butterflies.
I have often lost myself in the sea, ears full of newly cut flowers, tongue full of love and agony.
In each thing there is an insinuation of death. Stillness, silence, serenity are all apprenticeships.
What's the furthest corner? Because that's where I want to be, alone with the only thing that I love.
The day hunger disappears, the world will see the greatest spiritual explosion humanity has ever seen.
The world is a shoulder of dark meat (black flesh of an old mule). And the light is on the other side.
Theatre is poetry that rises from the book and becomes human enough to talk and shout, weep and despair