In Spain, the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country in the world.

Today in my heart a vague trembling of stars and all roses are as white as my pain.

Verde que te quiero verde. Verde viento. Verde ramas. Green I love you green. Green Wind. Green branches.

The day we stop resisting our instincts, we'll have learned how to live.

Those who are afraid of death will carry it on their shoulders.

To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.

Hour of Stars (1920) The round silence of night, one note on the stave of the infinite. Ripe with lost poems, I step naked into the street. The blackness riddled by the singing of crickets: sound, that dead will-o'-the-wisp, that musical light perceived by the spirit. A thousand butterfly skeletons sleep within my walls. A wild crowd of young breezes over the river.