Pablo Neruda Quotes About House
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In the house of poetry nothing endures that is not written with blood to be heard with blood.
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Your house sounds like a train at midday, the wasps buzz, the saucepans sing, the waterfall enumerates the deeds of the dew . . .
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I built up these lumber piles of love, and with fourteen boards each I built little houses, so that your eyes, which I adore and sing to, might live in them. Now that I have declared the foundations of my love, I surrender this century to you: wooden sonnets that rise only because you gave them life.
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so I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache.
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Absence is a house so vast that inside you will pass through its walls and hang pictures on the air.
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So the freshness lives on in a lemon, in the sweet-smelling house of the rind, the proportions, arcane and acerb.
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