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60 phrases of Rubén Darío

60 phrases of Rubén Darío

Félix Rubén García Sarmiento (1867 - 1916), known as Ruben DarioHe was a Nicaraguan poet who started the Hispanic-American literary movement known as modernism, which flourished at the end of the 19th century. Darío has had a great and lasting influence on Spanish literature and journalism of the 20th century. He has been praised as the "Prince of Castilian Letters" and the undisputed father of the modernist literary movement.

Famous quotes by Rubén Darío

The virtue is in being calm and strong; with the inner fire everything burns.

When man really loves, his passion penetrates everything and is capable of piercing the earth.

I think that neurosis is always preferable to imbecility.

It is gray and sad afternoon. You saw the sea of ​​velvet and the deep sky wears grief.

The betrayals of ambition never cease.

Do not let go of enthusiasm, virtue as valuable as necessary; Work, aspire, always tend to the height.

Poetry will exist whenever there is a problem of life or death.

When I want to cry, I don't cry ... and sometimes I cry without wanting to.

This axiom at all times you will have to meditate: the science of living is the art of love.

The princess is sad, what will the princess have? Sighs escape from his strawberry mouth.

Everything we see or think about us is nothing but a dream within a dream!

The letters, like the flowers, like the fruits, like the towns, usually suffer epidemics that devastate and disfigure them.

And winter came, and the poor man felt cold in his body and soul.

Let's do, because it's beautiful, good ...

Elegance does not consist in the excess of ornaments, nor in the profusion of jewelry.

Abhor mouths that predict eternal misfortunes.

Today, in the middle of spring, I leave the door of the cage open to the poor blue bird.

The lamentations and the moans, the sighs and the tears are appeased in the meantime by this horrible palpitation of my heart; Ah, this horrible palpitation!

Well, if you insist on dreaming, you insist on burning the flame of your life.

Do not let go of enthusiasm, virtue as valuable as necessary; Work, aspire, always tend to the height.

Without a woman, life is pure prose.

Light produces colors: colors do not turn on the light.

Youth, divine treasure, you're leaving to not return! When I want to cry, I don't cry, and sometimes I cry without wanting ...

To be honest is to be powerful: naked as it is, the star shines.

Let the hurricane move my heart!

Too bad of one who one day looks at his internal sphinx and questions it. He is lost.

When man really loves, his passion penetrates everything and is capable of piercing the earth.

And when the mountain of life is hard and long and high and full of chasms, love the immensity that is on fire and burn in the fusion of our own breasts!

A good book is the best of friends, the same today as always.

You are a universe of universes and your soul a source of songs.

Blessed is the tree that is barely sensitive, and more hard stone, because it no longer feels, for there is no pain greater than the pain of being alive, nor greater sorrow than conscious life.

From the exalted beauty that you embody, stars have sprouted over the world.

Because I feel that up there, in heaven, the angels who speak sweetly to the ear, cannot find among their radiant words of love a more fervent expression than that of "mother."

Among his living eyebrows I saw a star shine. The sky was blue, and I was naked.

Once a carnation flew from its stem made red butterfly, and a star descended fascinated and transformed into fleur de lis.

The best muse is the flesh and blood!

What will I want life for when I don't have youth.

The ivory tower tempted my longing; I wanted to lock myself inside myself, and I was hungry for space and thirst for heaven from the shadows of my own abyss.

The song flies, with its wings: harmony and eternity.

The book is strength, it is courage, it is strength, it is food; torch of thought and spring of love.

If the motherland is small, one dreams of it.

The verb can create its own flesh, like the snail its shell: but the flesh alone will never create the verb, and as the statue will exist without a soul.

The eternal feminine can make the divine human.

I am looking for a way that my style cannot discover, a cocoon of thought that wants to be a rose.

But your flesh is bread, your blood is wine.

The word is not in itself more than a sign, or a combination of signs; but it contains everything by demiurgic virtue.

No philosophies, nothing of transcendent purposes, nor of sensitized, humanized and universalized abstractions. That, I am sure, hurts your delicate eardrums made for music and love.

And what blue butterfly wings do we use? Those who were born without wings will ask.

A piece of music for piece of pan.

Religion and philosophy meet art at such borders, since in both there is also an artistic ambivalence.

I want to express my anguish in verses that abolish will tell my youth of roses and dreams, and the bitter defloration of my life by a vast pain and small cares.

The monstrous, the stormy, the irresistible capital of the check. Surrounded by smaller islands, it has Jersey nearby; and grabbed Brooklyn.

Yes, art is blue, but that blue above that gives off a ray of love to ignite hearts and ennoble thought and engender large and generous actions.

On an abandoned and sad path that only evil angels travel, a strange Deity the black Night has erected her lonely throne; I got there once ...

I have caressed the great nature, and I have sought in the heat of the ideal, the verse that is in the star at the bottom of the sky, and the one that is in the pearl deep in the ocean.

Love your rhythm and rhyme your actions; under his law, as well as your verses; You are a universe of universes, and your soul, a source of songs.

The lilacs and roses were wax, apples and pears in painted marble, and glass grapes. Still life!

I will say that you are more beautiful than the moon; That the treasure of heaven is less rich than the treasure that watches over your fancy ivory caress of your fan.

Ah, my adorable, my beautiful, my dear brunette heron! You have in the deep memories that in my soul form the highest and most sublime, an immortal light. Because you revealed to me the secret of divine delights, in the ineffable first moment of love!

We don't know how to explain why the hawk devours the dove, and our ignorance writhes against the Creator of Heaven and earth, the source of justice and the source of all good.