Antonio Machado was a revered Spanish poet and playwright, celebrated for his profound contributions to Spanish literature. Born on February 26, 1875, in Seville, Spain, he is considered one of the leading figures of the Generation of '98, a group of Spanish intellectuals who explored and reflected upon the country's cultural and political identity during a period of significant change.
Machado's poetry is characterized by its deep philosophical and introspective themes, often focusing on human existence, nature, and the passage of time. His works, including "Soledades, galerías y otros poemas" and "Campos de Castilla," are highly regarded for their lyrical beauty and emotional depth.
Throughout his life, Antonio Machado held academic positions in France and Spain, and his poetry evolved with the changing socio-political landscape of Spain, reflecting a deep sense of social conscience. He witnessed and wrote about the Spanish Civil War, which profoundly influenced his later works.
Tragically, Machado's life was cut short due to the Spanish Civil War, as he lived in exile in France and passed away on February 22, 1939. His literary legacy endures through his poems and plays, which continue to captivate readers and influence the world of Spanish literature. His poetry remains a source of inspiration and reflection on the human condition and the complexities of existence.
AwarenessSoulSilenceObservationMy 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.
LoveForgivenessI 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.
MisconceptionsOnly a fool thinks price and value are the same.
HumilityAvoid pulpits, platforms, stages and pedestals. Keep to the hard ground. It is the only way you can judge your approximate status as a man.
JourneySelf-DiscoveryXXIX 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.
NatureFulfillmentLossResponsibilityRegretThe 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?
MindDreamsAwarenessHas 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
JourneyTravelSelf-DiscoveryExplorationExperienceWanderer, 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. . .
Man would be "otherwise." That's the essence of the specifically human.
CommunityBeware of the community in which blasphemy does not exist: underneath, atheism runs rampant.
PhilosophyFaithSadnessHuman RaceMy philosophy is fundamentally sad, but I’m not a sad man, and I don’t believe I sadden anyone else. In other words, the fact that I don’t put my philosophy into practice saves me from its evil spell, or, rather, my faith in the human race is stronger then my intellectual analysis of it; there lies the fountain of youth in which my heart is continually bathing.
IdentityRelationshipsSelf-DiscoveryI. 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.
There are a lot of doubts over the size and effect of new competitors in the cellular sector.
JourneyUncertaintyExplorationReflectionWanderer, 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 that never will be trod again. Wanderer, there is no road-- Only wakes upon the sea. Caminante, son tus huellas el camino, y nada más; caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar. Al andar se hace camino, y al volver la vista atrás se ve la senda que nunca se ha de volver a pisar. Caminante, no hay camino, sino estelas en la mar.
JourneySelf-DiscoveryExplorationIndividualismWayfarer, the only way is your footsteps, there is no other. Wayfarer, there is no way, you make the way as you go. As you go, you make the way and stopping to look behind, you see the path that your feet will never travel again. Wayfarer, there is no way- Only foam trails to the sea.
Man's passion for truth is such that he will welcome the bitterest of all postulates so long as it strikes him as true.
Пам'ятьВеснаIllusionThe afternoon is bright, with spring in the air, a mild March afternoon, with the breath of April stirring, I am alone in the quiet patio looking for some old untried illusion - some shadow on the whiteness of the wall some memory asleep on the stone rim of the fountain, perhaps in the air the light swish of some trailing gown.