A book, a book full of human touches, of shirts, a book without loneliness, with Menard tools, a books victory.

— Pablo Neruda

Absence is a house so vast that inside you will pass through its walls and hang pictures on the air.

— Pablo Neruda

And everything burned in blue, everything a star

— Pablo Neruda

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.

— Pablo Neruda

And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where it came from, from winter or a river. I don't know how or when, no they were not voices, they were not words, nor silence, but from a street I was summoned, from the branches of night, abruptly from the others, among violent fires or returning alone, there I was without a face and it touched me. 

— Pablo Neruda

And so this letter ends with no sadness:my feet are firm upon the earth, my hand writes this letter on the road, and in the midst of life I shall bealwaysbeside the friend, facing the enemy, with your name on my mouth and a kiss that never broke away from yours.

— Pablo Neruda

And tell me everything, tell chain by chain, and link by link, and step by step; sharpen the knives you kept hidden away, thrust them into my breast, into my hands, like a torrent of sunbursts, an Amazon of buried jaguars, and leave me cry: hours, days and years, blind ages, stellar centuries.

— Pablo Neruda

And the heart sounds like a sour conch, calls, oh sea, oh lament, oh molten panic, scattered in the unlucky and disheveled waves:the sea reports sonorously on its languid shadows, its green poppies.

— Pablo Neruda

Armor"So many days, oh so many days seeing you so tangible and so close, how do I pay, with what do I pay? The bloodthirsty spring has awakened in the woods. The foxes start from their earths, the serpents drink the dew, and I go with you in the leaves between the pines and the silence, asking myself how and when will have to pay for my luck. Of everything I have seen, it's you I want to go on seeing:of everything I've touched, it's your flesh I want to go on touching. I love your orange laughter. I am moved by the sight of you sleeping. What am I to do, love, loved one? I don't know how others lover how people loved in the past. I live, watching you, loving you. Being in love is my nature. You please me more each afternoon. Where is she? I keep on asking if your eyes disappear. How long she's taking! I think, and I'm hurt. I feel poor, foolish and sad, and you arrive, and you are lightning glancing off the peach trees. That's why I love you and yet not why. There are so many reasons, and yet so few, for love has to be so, involving and general, particular and terrifying, joyful and grieving, flowering like the stars, and measureless as a kiss. That's why I love you and yet not why. There are so many reasons, and yet so few, for love has to be so, involving and general, particular and terrifying, joyful and grieving, flowering like the stars, and measureless as a kiss.

— Pablo Neruda

As if you were on fire from within. The moon lives in the lining of your skin.

— Pablo Neruda