Quotes from Antonio Machado

Travelers, there is no path, paths are made by walking.

Man's passion for truth is such that he will welcome the bitterest of all postulates so long as it strikes him as true.

Don't try to rush things: for the cup to run over, it must first be filled.

Between living and dreaming there is a third thing. Guess it.

My philosophy is fundamentally sad, but I'm not a sad man, and I don't believe I sadden anyone else.

In order to write poetry, you must first invent a poet who will write it.

Last night as I was sleeping, I dreamt - marvellous error! - That it was God I had here inside my heart.

Wanderer, your footsteps are the road, and nothing more; wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking. By walking one makes the road, and upon glancing behind one sees the path. . .

By walking one makes the road, and upon glancing behind sees the path

I dreamt -- marvellous error! -- that I had a beehive here inside my heart. And the golden bees were making white combs and sweet honey from my old failures.

Life is the path you beat while you walk it It's the walking that beats the path It is not the path that makes the walk

Life is the path you beat while you walk it.

Wayfarer, there is no way,you make the way as you go.As you go, you make the wayand stopping to look behind,you see the path that your feetwill never travel again.Wayfarer, there is no way—only foam trails in the sea.

Man would be "otherwise." That's the essence of the specifically human.

It's not the basic Ithat the poet is afterbut the essential you.

Last night, as I slept, I dreamt- marvelous error!- that it was God I had here inside my heart.

I've caught a glimpse of him in dreams: expert hunter of himself, every minute in ambush.

El ojo que ves no es ojo porque tú lo veas, es ojo porque te ve.

I thought my fire was out, and stirred the ashes…. I burnt my fingers.

Like an abandoned dog who cannot find a smell or a track and roams along the roads, with no road, like the child who in a night of the fair gets lost among the crowd, and the air is dusty, and the candles fluttering,--astounded, his heart weighed down by music and by pain; that's how I am, drunk, sad by nature, a mad and lunar guitarist, a poet, and an ordinary man lost in dreams, searching constantly for God among the mists.

Will the spellbound world die with you" Will the spellbound world die with you where memory hangs on to clean breaths in life, the white shadow of a first love, a voice that struck your heart, the hand you wanted to grab in dreams, and every love that fell in the soul down to the bottom sky? Will your world die with you, the old life you remade in your way? Have the anvils and crucibles of your soul been working for dust and wind?

Estos días azules y este sol de infancia

Bueno es saber que los vasos nos sirven para beber; lo malo es que no sabemos para qué sirve la sed.

Hope says: one day you will see her, if you will only wait. Despair says: all you have left of her is your bitterness. Beat, heart…The earth has not swallowed everything.