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Sólo la fiebre y la poesía provocan visiones. / Sólo el amor y la memoria. / No estos caminos ni estas llanuras. / No estos laberintos.

Roberto Bolaño
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Sólo con una ardiente paciencia conquistaremos la espléndida ciudad que dará luz, justicia y dignidad a todos los hombres. Así la poesía no habrá cantado en vano.

Pablo Neruda, Toward the Splendid City: Nobel Lecture
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No Brasil não há outonomas as folhas caem- In Brazil there is no autumnbut the leaves fall

Carlos Drummond de Andrade, Alguma Poesia
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The endWhen I die bang on cansRomp around in leaps and boundsLet whips crack in the airCall in clowns and acrobats!I want my coffin to go on a donkeyDecked out in Andalusian styleYou can't refuse anything to a dead manAnd I want, by all means, go on a donkey

Mário de Sá-Carneiro, Mário de Sá Carneiro - Poesias
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Armed I am with love. Disarmed I am.

Manuel Alegre, 30 anos de poesia: obra poética completa
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What a ruler has to rely upon is only the human heart. Human hearts are to the ruler what roots are to a tree, what oil is to a lamp, water to fish, fields to a farmer, or money to a merchant.

Su Shi
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To count the stones losing countis the sense of our life: the algebraof our displacements.To follow paths losing sense is the circumvolution, the evolution: the logicof our moments. But. No.There is no symmetry in our acts.Never the chance of steps that surprise usto salt.Our time machine. Forward.Never backward the meat machine.No turning back. No turning back.There is no remedy: deathis an incurable asymmetry.Huge is the ticking of the Clock butbut our time has the clutch, the vortexthe saltwater of a wave that covers us.It reshapes and hollows out the face, like sandrobs us of our flesh.

Piero Olmeda, Of Time and Goats
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Cansado,sobre todo,de estar siempre conmigo,de hallarme cada día,cuando termina el sueño,allí, donde me encuentre,con las mismas naricesy con las mismas piernas...

Oliverio Girondo
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Las lágrimas que no se lloranesperan en pequeños lagos?O serán ríos invisiblesque corren hacia la tristeza?

Pablo Neruda
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Cuando vayamos al maryo te diré mi secreto:Me envuelve, pero no es ola...Me amarga..., pero no es sal...

Dulce María Loynaz
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