Pablo Neruda Quotes About Flowers

Quotes about: Flowers

• 

  You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.

  Pablo Neruda

  Inspiring, Hope, Spring
• 

  Take it all back. Life is boring, except for flowers, sunshine, your perfect legs. A glass of cold water when you are really thirsty. The way bodies fit together. Fresh and young and sweet. Coffee in the morning. These are just moments. I struggle with the in-betweens. I just want to never stop loving like there is nothing else to do, because what else is there to do?

  Pablo Neruda

  Sweet, Morning, Coffee

• You can crush the flowers, but you can't stop the spring.

  Pablo Neruda

  Love, Crush, Spring

• I will bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

  Pablo Neruda

  Spring, Flower, Dark

  Pablo Neruda (1975). “Pablo Neruda: selected poems”

• Never an illness, nor the absence of grandeur, no, nothing is able to kill the best in us, that kindness, dear sir, we are afflicted with: beautiful is the flower of man, his conduct, and every door opens on the beautiful truth and never hides treacherous whispers. I always gained something from making myself better, better than I am, better than I was, that most subtle citation: to recover some lost petal of the sadness I inherited: to search once more for the light that sings inside of me, the unwavering light.

  Pablo Neruda

  Beautiful, Kindness, Flower

  Pablo Neruda (2002). “The Sea and the Bells”, p.61, Copper Canyon Press

• I love you between shadow and soul. I love you as the plant that hasn't bloomed yet, and carries hidden within itself the light of flowers. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. Because of you, the dense fragrance that rises from the earth lives in my body, rioting with hunger for the eternity of our victorious kisses.

  Pablo Neruda

  Flower, Love You, Kissing

• Maybe nothingness is to be without your presence, without you moving, slicing the noon like a blue flower, without you walking later through the fog and the cobbles, without the light you carry in your hand, golden, which maybe others will not see, which maybe no one knew was growing like the red beginnings of a rose. In short, without your presence: without your coming suddenly, incitingly, to know my life, gust of a rosebush, wheat of wind: since then I am because you are, since then you are, I am, we are, and through love I will be, you will be, we will be.

  Pablo Neruda

  Flower, Moving, Light

• But
  if each day,
  each hour,
  you feel that you are destined for me
  with implacable sweetness,
  if each day a flower
  climbs up to your lips to seek me,
  ah my love, ah my own,
  in me all that fire is repeated,
  in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
  my love feeds on your love, beloved,
  and as long as you live it will be in your arms
  without leaving mine.

  Pablo Neruda

  Famous Love, Flower, Love Is

  Pablo Neruda (2008). “Love Poems”, p.41, New Directions Publishing

• We are dust and to dust return. In the end we're neither air, nor fire, nor water, just dirt, neither more nor less, just dirt, and maybe some yellow flowers.

  Pablo Neruda

  Flower, Fire, Air

• I love all things, not only the grand but the infinitely small: thimble, spurs, plates, flower vases.

  Pablo Neruda

  Flower, Spurs, Vases

• In you is the illusion of each day. You arrive like the dew to the cupped flowers. You undermine the horizon with your absence. Eternally in flight like the wave.

  Pablo Neruda

  Flower, Dew, Horizon

• I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrence risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. and: No one can stop the river of your hands, your eyes and their sleepiness, my dearest. You are the trembling of time, which passes between the vertical light and the darkening sky. and: From the stormy archipelagoes I brought my windy accordian, waves of crazy rain, the habitual slowness of natural things: they made up my wild heart.

  Pablo Neruda

  Crazy, Rain, Flower

• 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, the mud and the roots know your name.

  Pablo Neruda

  Wall, Flower, Night

  Pablo Neruda (2009). “The Captain's Verses: Love Poems”, p.135, New Directions Publishing

• facebook
• twitter
• googleplus
• email
• linkedin

• facebook
• twitter
• googleplus
• email
• linkedin