Pablo Neruda Quotes

Time engraves our faces with all the tears we have not shed.

People carry their secrets in hidden places, not on their faces. They carry suffering on their faces. Also bitterness if there’s room.

‎She didn't understand what it was like to be filled with a love so strong that it made your chest ache—a love you could only feel and not express. Keeping love buried was a lot like keeping anger pent up, I'd learned. It just ate you up inside until you wanted to scream or kick something.

Because she deserved my tears if anyone on earth ever did. I could feel the tears within me, undiscovered, and untouched in their inland sea. Those tears had been with me always.

Every human walks around with a certain kind of sadness. They may not wear it on their sleeves, but it's there if you look deep.

Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.

Alone, he must bear the weight of a sin he dare not confess to the one person he loves…and has lost.

What cannot be said, will get wept.

She put her head down on the table and cried all the tears that she knew she should have cried in the past year and a half. But they weren't ready then, they were now.

Lofty mountains are full of springs; great hearts are full of tears.

The only sadnesses that are dangerous and unhealthy are the ones that we carry around in public in order to drown them out with the noise.

What uniform can I wear to hide my heavy heart? It is too heavy. It will always show. Jacques felt himself growing gloomy again. He was well aware that to live on earth a man must follow its fashions, and hearts were no longer worn.

All unlived emotions turn to inanity.

My tears are buried in my heart, like cave-locked fountains sleeping.

People tell me it's a sin, to know and feel too much within.

Don't leave it all unsaid, somewhere in the wasteland of your head.

She felt everything too deeply, it was like the world was too much for her.

Keeping love buried was a lot like jeeping anger pent up, I'd learned. It just ate you up insides until you wanted to scream or kick something.

Trifling trouble find utterance; deeply felt pangs are silent.

I think maybe the most frustrating feeling in the world is to have something to say buy not know how to put it into words. To have lived through something but not be able to get it out of you before it festers.

Laughter isn't even the other side of tears. It is tears turned inside out. Truly the suffering is great, here on earth.

With the passage of time, as well as the social evolution and genetic exchange, we ended up putting our conscience in the color of our blood and the salt of our tears.

What are the words you do not yet have? What do you need to say? What are the tyrannies you swallow day by day and attempt to make your own, until you will sicken and die of them, still in silence.

Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways.