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Pablo Neruda

“Cuando estamos lejos de la patria nunca la recordamos en sus inviernos. La distancia borra las penas del invierno, las poblaciones desamparadas, los niños descalzos en el frío. El arte del recuerdo sólo nos trae campiñas verdes, flores amarillas y rojas, el cielo azulado del himno nacional.”


Pablo Neruda, Confieso que he vivido
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Confieso que he vivido Confieso que he vivido by Pablo Neruda
3,815 ratings, average rating, 321 reviews

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