Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What can I say without touching the earth with my hands?
You can crush the flowers, but you can't stop the spring.
Give me your hand out of the depths sown by your sorrows.
Today is today, and yesterday is gone. There is no doubt.
I want to do with you what spring does with cherry trees.
I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.
And what importance do I have in the courtroom of oblivion?
Am I allowed to ask my book / whether it's true I wrote it?
What did the earth teach the trees? How to speak to the sky.
What does autumn go on paying for with so much yellow money?
Cómo se acuerda con los pájaros la traducción de sus idiomas?
I want to do for you what the spring does for the cherry trees
What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood?
Conspirators in pajamas who exchange deep kisses for passwords.
Give me silence, water, hope Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes.
The tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness.
All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are.
Look around—there's only one thing of danger for you here—poetry.
I am everybody and every time, I always call myself by your name.
While I'm writing, I'm far away; and when I come back, I've gone.
I want to do with you what the spring does with the cherry trees.
The night is shattered, and the blue stars shiver in the distance.
I think it was very informative, but a lot still needs to be done.
La heradera del dia destruida. (The heiress of the destroyed day.)
You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.
Love has to be…flowering like the stars, and measureless as a kiss.
Place gifts of silver in our hands. Give us this day our daily fish.
The darkness of a day elapsed, of a day nourished with our sad blood.
If nothing saves us from death, at least love should save us from life
To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.
What did the tree learn from the earth to be able to talk with the sky?
with your name on my mouth and a kiss that never broke away from yours.
The best poet is the man who delivers our daily bread: the local baker.
I have never thought of my life as divided between poetry and politics.
Two things make a story. The net and the air that falls through the net.
Love is a war of lightning, and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness.
When your hands leap towards mine, love, what do they bring me in flight?
Your wide eyes are the only light I know from extinguished constellations.
Only a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness.
With which stars do they go on speaking,the rivers that never reach the sea?
Peace goes into the making of a poem as flour goes into the making of bread.
Pale blind diver, luckless slinger, lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping but I shall go on living.
I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything.
Like them you are tall and taciturn, and you are sad, all at once, like a voyage.
The road made wet by the water of August shines like it was cut in full moonlight
He who has nothing—it has been said many times—has nothing to lose but his chains.
To love is to tilt with the lightning, two bodies routed by a single honey's sweet.