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Pablo Neruda

"Peace goes into the making of a poem as flour goes into the making of bread."

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"Peace goes into the making of a poem as flour goes into the making of bread."

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Amber Hurdle

"In quietness we find inner peace."

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Amber Hurdle

"If you wish to possess your soul, be patient."

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Amber Hurdle

"Don't react to any fuming argument."

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Amber Hurdle

"If your heart is your home, you can be happy anywhere."

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Amber Hurdle

"The sea may catch fire, the planets may collide in space, the sun may quench off its heat, but what we understand is that our peace is like a river in our souls; it's surface may wave about in turbulence, but it's bottom is cool and gently calm!"

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Amber Hurdle

"It is our responsibility to pray for a peaceful world."

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Amber Hurdle

"If you cannot sleep, sing to your soul."

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Amber Hurdle

"Thy best of rest is sleep,And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'stThy death, which is no more."

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Amber Hurdle

"Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe."

Explore more quotes by Pablo Neruda

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Pablo Neruda
"Dark is the world's night without you my love."
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Pablo Neruda
"Of so much moon were your hips to me,of all the sun your deep mouth and its delight,of so much burning light like honey in the shade."
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Pablo Neruda
"Then love knew it was called love. And when I lifted my eyes to your name, suddenly your heart showed me my way."
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Pablo Neruda
"I love you like the plant that does not bloomand carries in itself, hidden, the light of those flowers."
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Pablo Neruda
"You, in bloom, heart, beloved,you are like the foliage of the sky over my eyesand I look at you lying on the earth."
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Pablo Neruda
"Absence is a house so vast that inside you will pass through its walls and hang pictures on the air."
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Pablo Neruda
"A book,a book fullof human touches,of shirts,a bookwithout loneliness, with menand tools,a bookis victory."
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Pablo Neruda
"From that terrible love the soft pure handsgave peace to my eyes and sun to my senses."
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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."
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Pablo Neruda
"Y por que el sol es tan mal amigodel caminante en el desierto?Y por que el sol es tan simpaticoen el jardin del hospital?And why is the sun such a bad companionto the traveler in the desert?And why is the sun so congenial in the hospital garden?"
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