Antonio Machado Quotes

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

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

The deepest words of the wise man teach us the same as the whistle of the wind when it blows or the sound of the water when it is flowing.

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.

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

I love Jesus, who said to us: Heaven and earth will pass away. When heaven and earth have passed away, my word will remain. What was your word, Jesus? Love? Forgiveness? Affection? All your words were one word: Wakeup.

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

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

Only a fool thinks price and value are the same.

All our efforts must tend towards light.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

XXIX Traveler, there is no path. The path is made by walking. Traveller, the path is your tracks And nothing more. Traveller, there is no path The path is made by walking. By walking you make a path And turning, you look back At a way you will never tread again Traveller, there is no road Only wakes in the sea.

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.

The wind, one brilliant day, called to my soul with an odor of jasmine. "In return for the odor of my jasmine, I'd like all the odor of your roses." "I have no roses; all the flowers in my garden are dead." "Well then, I'll take the withered petals and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain." the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself: "What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?

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

Has my heart gone to sleep? Have the beehives of my dreams stopped working, the waterwheel of the mind run dry, scoops turning empty, only shadow inside? No, my heart is not asleep. It is awake, wide awake. Not asleep, not dreaming— its eyes are opened wide watching distant signals, listening on the rim of vast silence

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

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