Ruben Dario Quotes
Ruben Dario's page feels like a lyrical meditation on history, art and identity, suited for readers who love deep, dreamy reflections.
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I seek a form that my style cannot discover, a bud of thought that wants to be a rose.
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The America of Moctezuma and Atahualpa, the aromatic America of Columbus, Catholic America, Spanish America, the America where noble Cuauhtemoc said: 'I am not on a bed of roses' -our America, trembling with hurricanes, trembling with Love: O men with Saxon eyes and barbarous souls, our America lives. And dreams. And loves. And it is the daughter of the Sun. Be careful.
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The tree is happy because it is scarcely sentient; the hard rock is happier still, it feels nothing: there is no pain as great as being alive, no burden heavier than that of conscious life.
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Pity for him who one day looks upon his inward sphinx and questions it. He is lost.
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My pick is working deep in the soil of this unknown America, turning out gold and opals and precious stones, an altar, a broken statue. And the Muse divines the meaning of the hieroglyphics. The strange life of a vanished people emerges from the mist of time.
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Si pequena es la patria, uno grande la suena.
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Sweet as sweetest Grecian honey will my song be when I sing, O Beloved, in the season of the Spring!
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The treacheries of ambition never cease.
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“Juventud divino tesoro Ya te vas para no volver Quando quiero llorar no lloro Y a veces lloro sin querer”
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“You are an Universe of Universes and your soul a source of songs.”
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Poetry will exist as long as there is a problem of life and death
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“Creo que siempre es preferible la neurosis a la imbecilidad.”
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“Brother,you who have the light, tell me mine. I am like a blind man. I go without direction and fumble along. I go under tempests and storms, blind with fantasy and crazy with harmony. That is my malady. Dreaming. Poetry is the iron jacket with a thousand bloody points I wear upon my soul. The bloodstained thorns spill the drops of my melancholy. And so I go, blind and crazy, through this bitter world; at times it seems to me that the path is very long, and at times that it's very short... And in this back-and-forth between eagerness and agony, I am full of woes I can hardly bear. Don't you hear the drops of my melancholy falling?”