Bitter love, a violet with it's crown of thorns in a thicet of spiky passions, spear of sorrow, corolla of rage: how did you come to conquer my soul? What brought you?
Pablo NerudaWhen I got the chance I asked them a slew of questions. They offered to burn me; it was the only thing they knew.
Pablo NerudaThe typewriter separated me from a deeper intimacy with poetry, and my hand brought me closer to that intimacy again.
Pablo NerudaPerhaps this war will pass like the others which divided us leaving us dead, killing us along with the killers but the shame of this time puts its burning fingers to our faces. Who will erase the ruthlessness hidden in innocent blood?
Pablo Neruda