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50 phrases of Octavio Paz

50 phrases of Octavio Paz

Octavio Paz (1914 - 1998) was a famous Mexican poet and essayist who received the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1990.

Son and grandson of journalists, he followed the family tradition and became a writer, publishing his first volume of poetry, Wild moon in 1933. Paz also worked as an editor helping to found a literary magazine called Workshop in 1938. He was in the diplomatic service in 1945 and later was appointed Mexican ambassador to India, a position he held from 1962 to 1968. Paz resigned in protest over the handling of the Mexican government to student demonstrations during the Olympic Games.

Some of his most acclaimed works were Sun stone (1957), and critical and analytical works such as The Labyrinth of Solitude (1950), which consolidated his reputation as a teacher of language and an acute intellect. He wrote more than 30 books and poetry collections in his life. Paz received numerous awards for his work, including the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1990.

Do not miss this beautiful collection of famous quotes that we have brought here for you.

Famous quotes from Octavio Paz

Love is scandal, disorder, transgression: that of two stars that break the fatality of their orbits and are in the middle of the space.

To love is to die and revive and remorse: it is vivacity. I love you because I am mortal and you are.

Everything flows: what I lived I am still dying.

Without democracy, freedom is a chimera.

Peasants are educated, even if they are illiterate. They have a past, a tradition, some images.

I know that I live between two parentheses.

Resignation is one of our popular virtues. More than the brightness of victory we are moved by the fortitude in the face of adversity.

It abolishes the distance between man and the thing, to name is to create, and imagine, to be born ...

It is a masculine, active, cruel verb: itches, hurts, tears, stains ... the bad is the passive, the inert, the open.

Defending nature is defending men.

Pollution not only infests the air, rivers and forests but also souls.

Who has seen hope does not forget it. He seeks her under all the heavens and among all men.

Living well requires dying well. We have to learn to face death.

You have to sleep with your eyes open, you have to dream with your hands ... you have to dream aloud, you have to sing until the song takes root, trunks, branches, branches, birds, stars ...

I don't see with my eyes: words are my eyes.

So I: I have nothing to say to time. And he has nothing to tell me either.

We are toys of time and its accidents: sickness and old age, which disfigure the body and mislead the soul. But love is one of the answers that man has invented to face death.

We have to be air, dream in freedom.

The first thing is to cure ourselves from the intoxication of simplistic and simplifying ideologies.

The pregnant word cloud comes docile and bleak, to hang over my head, swaying, moaning like an injured animal.

I open my eyes, I'm still alive, in the center of a still fresh wound.

Loneliness is a break with an outdated world and preparation for the return and the final struggle.

To love is to fight, if two kiss the world, embody desires, thought embodies, wings sprout on the back of the slave, the world is real and tangible, wine is wine, bread becomes known, water is water.

More difficult than to despise money is to resist the temptation to do works or to transform oneself into work.

Freedom does not need wings, what it needs is to take root.

Man, tree of images, words that are flowers that are fruits that are acts.

Man is the food of man. Knowledge is no different from dreaming, dreaming of doing.

Resignation is one of our popular virtues. More than the brightness of victory we are moved by the fortitude of adversity.

The painting has one foot in architecture and another in the dream.

The time has passed to wait for the arrival of time, the time of yesterday, today and tomorrow, yesterday is today, tomorrow is today, everything today is today ...

Our instruments can measure time, but we can no longer think about it: it has become too big and too small.

Love is an attraction to a unique person: a body and a soul. Love is choice; Eroticism an acceptance.

The machines are large productions of waste and their wastes increase in geometric proportion to their productive capacity.

When we fall in love, we choose our fatality.

I write without knowing the outcome of those who write, I search between the lines, my image is the lamp lit in the middle of the night.

Love is a bet against time and its accidents.

Is freedom a form of destiny? Freedom is the only form of fatality that man endures and resists.

Mexicanity is a way of not being ourselves, a repeated way of being and living something else.

The deep sense of social protest is to have opposed the spontaneous ghost of the future the spontaneous reality of now.

We love a mortal being as if he were immortal.

The youth rebellion between these two extremes: their criticism is real, their action is unreal. His criticism hits the mark but his action cannot change society.

The unreality of the look, gives reality to the look.

The liberal society will be paralyzed if it ceases to be self-critical.

To love is to fight, to open doors, to stop being a ghost with a perpetual number condemned by a faceless master.

Pride is the vice of the powerful.

Democracy is the regime of relative opinions.

In our world, love is an almost inaccessible experience. Everything opposes him: morals, classes, laws, races and the same lovers.

Waking up to history means acquiring awareness of our uniqueness, a moment of reflective rest before giving ourselves up to do. (The Labyrinth of Solitude)

True love consists precisely in the transformation of the appetite of possession into surrender.

In the icy waters of selfish calculation, that's society, that's why love and poetry are marginal.

Love is born from a crush; the friendship of frequent and prolonged exchange. Love is instantaneous; Friendship takes time.

The act by which man is founded and reveals himself is poetry.