Pablo Neruda Quotes
The morning is full of storm in the heart of summer. The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye, the wind, travelling, waving them in its hands. The numberless heart of the wind beating above our loving silence. Orchestral and divine, resounding among the trees like a language full of wars and songs.
Pablo Neruda
Quotes to Explore
I go to Australia probably once every two years. It's wide-open spaces there, so I just rent a motorcycle and ride out to the middle of the continent. For hours, you don't see anybody.
Larry Fitzgerald
I love to run, and I actually run quite a bit.
Katee Sackhoff
I did not come to NASA to make history.
Sally Ride
My kids are in school and in all these clubs - chess club, fashion club, you name it. When my dad came home from work, it was late, and when he left, it was early in the morning. On my days off, I'm still taking my kids to school and picking them up. I do what I have to do to keep that relationship.
Omar Dorsey
I was young and so eager to make some money as well as get exposed and show my talent.
Young Buck
The bank, Mr. Van Buren, is trying to kill me, but I will kill it.
Andrew Jackson
I don't think any poetry is written that isn't primarily written to the self, in a way... I'm always talking to myself. But I seem to want somebody else to listen to it. I need, I do want an audience. So it's a strange thing. It's a very private conversation that then, you make public, kind of, like, the starfish flipping its stomach out.
Kay Ryan
Davy lets fly an oath and storms out of the hold. We hear his fist hit the wall as he leaves. you really are an evil girl, says Jaimy. I know, I murmur. I shall have to pay.
L.A. Meyer
Yes, as my swift days near their goal, 'tis all that I implore: In life and death a chainless soul, with courage to endure.
Emily Bronte
Takin a cuppa precautions. Erry body be safe.
Beetlejuice
The morning is full of storm in the heart of summer. The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye, the wind, travelling, waving them in its hands. The numberless heart of the wind beating above our loving silence. Orchestral and divine, resounding among the trees like a language full of wars and songs.
Pablo Neruda
