Antonio Machado Quotes

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. . .

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

My soul is not asleep. It is awake, wide awake. It neither sleeps nor dreams, but watches, its eyes wide open far-off things, and listens at the shores of the great silence.

Beyond living and dreaming there is something more important: waking up.

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

Traveler, there is no path, the path must be forged as you walk.

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.

What the poet is searching for is not the fundamental I but the deep you.

Under all that we think, lives all we believe, like the ultimate veil of our spirits

Avoid pulpits, platforms, stages and pedestals. Keep to the hard ground. It is the only way you can judge your approximate status as a man.

Only a fool thinks price and value are the same.

All uncertainty is fruitfull ... so long as it is accompanied by the wish to understand

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

Death is something we shouldn't fear because, while we are, death isn't, and when death is, we aren't.

Beware of the community in which blasphemy does not exist: underneath, atheism runs rampant.

Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar. (Walk, there is no path, the path is made by walking.)

The truly erotic sensibility, in evoking the image of woman, never omits to clothe it. The robing and disrobing: that is the true traffic of love.

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

Mankind owns four things that are no good at sea: rudder, anchor, oars and the fear of going down.

The absence of vices adds so little to the sum of one's virtues.

Those who deny the existence of the truth postulate the truth of their denial and plainly contradict themselves.

I. Don't trace out your profile-- forget your side view-- all that is outer stuff. II. Look for your other half who walks always next to you and tends to be who you aren't.

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

What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?

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

No one can shed light on vices he does not have or afflictions he has ever experienced.

There is no way; we make the road by walking it.

The only living language is the language in which we think and have our being.

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

Death is something we don't have to fear, since as long as we exist death doesn't and when it does we don't.

There is no one so bound to his own face that he does not cherish the hope of presenting another to the world.

All our efforts must tend towards light.

And to walk through life in dreams out of love for the hand that guides us.

It is good knowing that glasses are to drink from; the bad thing is not to know what thirst is for.

Pathmaker, there is no path; You make the path by walking, By walking you make the Path

The unpublished manuscript is like an uncon-fessed sin that festers in the soul, corrupting and contaminating it.

There is no road, the road is made by walking.

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

At the very smallest wheel of our reasoning it is possible for a handful of questions to break the bank of our answers.

There are a lot of doubts over the size and effect of new competitors in the cellular sector.

Life is the path you beat while you walk it.

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

Wherever learning breeds specialists, the sum of human culture is enhanced thereby. That is the illusion and consolation of specialists.

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

The great philosophers are poets who believe in the reality of their poems.

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

Hell is the bloodcurdling mansion of time, in whose profoundest circle Satan himself waits, winding a gargantuan watch in his hand.

Man would be otherwise. That is the essence of the specifically human.

All uncertainly is fruitful... so long as it is accompanied by the wish to understand.

When the I AM THAT I AM made nothingAnd rested, which rest it certainly deserved, Night now accompanied day, and manHad his friend in the absence of the woman.