Where were you then? Who else was there? Saying what? Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly when I am sad and feel you are far away?

Sometimes a piece of sun burned like a coin in my hand.

A bibliophile of little means is likely to suffer often. Books don't slip from his hands but fly past him through the air, high as birds, high as prices.

I need the sea because it teaches me

Each hour, Each day

From sorrow to sorrow love crosses its islands and establishes roots that are watered by weeping.

Our love was born outside the walls, in the wind, in the night, in the earth, and that's why the clay and the flower, the mud and the roots know your name.

I love you as one loves certain dark things.

And what importance do I have in the courtroom of oblivion?

Donde termina el arco iris, en tu alma o en el horizonte? Where does the rainbow end, in your soul or on the horizon?

In one kiss, you'll know all I haven't said.

Like a jar you housed the infinite tenderness, and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.

Everything is so alive, that I can be alive. Without moving I can see it all. In your life I see everything that lives.

He who has nothing—it has been said many times—has nothing to lose but his chains.

We must dream our way.

I am everybody and every time, I always call myself by your name.

Every day you play with the light of the universe.

En el amor, como agua del mar te has desatado. (In love, you have loosened yourself like seawater)

Absence is a house so vast that inside you will pass through its walls and hang pictures on the air.

When I got the chance I asked them a slew of questions. They offered to burn me; it was the only thing they knew.

I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.

With which stars do they go on speaking,the rivers that never reach the sea?

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

I want to see the thirst inside the syllables I want to touch the fire in the sound: I want to feel the darkness of the cry. I want words as rough as virgin rocks.” - Verb.