Dark is the world’s night without you my love,

— Pablo Neruda

DE pronto no Puerto decibels Que yo the debt decor, hombre,personae; Basque unique no escapes MIS palabrasno me echo a flora NI a dormitory Que Congo story sin vertexes have tempo y pasta el fin. I can't just suddenly tell you what I should be telling you, friend, forgive me; you know that although you don't hear my words, I wasn't asleep or in tears, that I am with you without seeing you for a good long time and until the end.

— Pablo Neruda

Die slowly He who becomes the slave of habit, who follows the same routes every day, who never changes pace, who does not risk and change the color of his clothes, who does not speak and does not experience, dies slowly. He or she who shuns passion, who prefers black on white, dotting ones "it’s" rather than a bundle of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer, that turn a yawn into a smile, that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings, dies slowly. He or she who does not turn things topsy-turvy, who is unhappy at work, who does not risk certainty for uncertainty, to thus follow a dream, those who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives, die slowly. He who does not travel, who does not read, who does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself, she who does not find grace in herself, dies slowly. He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem, who does not allow himself to be helped, who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain that never stops, dies slowly. He or she who abandon a project before starting it, who fail to ask questions on subjects he doesn't know, he or she who don't reply when they are asked something they do know, die slowly. Let's try and avoid death in small doses, reminding oneself that being alive requires an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing. Only a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness.

— Pablo Neruda

Done terminal El arc iris, en TU Alma o en el horizontal? Where does the rainbow end, in your soul or on the horizon?

— Pablo Neruda

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because I don't know how to say it - a day is longhand I will be waiting for you, as Iran empty station when the trains earmarked off somewhere else, asleep. Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together, the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart. Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach, may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance. Don't LEAVE me for a second, my dearest, because at that moment you'll have gone so far I'll wander failover all the earth, asking, will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

— Pablo Neruda

Do tears not yet spilled wait in small lakes? Or are they invisible rivers that run toward sadness?

— Pablo Neruda

Do you not hear the constant victory, in the human footrace of time, slow as fire, sure, and thick and Herculean accumulating its volume and adding its sad fiber?

— Pablo Neruda

Each in the most hidden sack kept the lost jewels of memory, intense love, secret nights and permanent kisses, the fragment of public or private happiness. A few, the wolves, collected thighs, other men loved the dawn scratching mountain ranges or ice floes, locomotives, numbers. For me happiness was to share singing, praising, cursing, crying with a thousand eyes. I ask forgiveness for my bad ways:my life had no use on earth.

— Pablo Neruda

Every day you play with the light of the universe.

— Pablo Neruda

Everything is ceremony in the wild garden of childhood.

— Pablo Neruda