He or she who becomes the slave of,
repeating every day the same itineraries,
who does not change the march
who does not risk and change the color of the clothes,
does not talk to those who do not know.
He or she who shuns passion,
who prefers black on white, dotting the "i"
rather than a set of emotions,
the kind that make your eyes sparkle,
that turn a yawn a smile,
those that make the heart beat in front of mistakes and feelings.
Slowly dies who does not overthrow the table
who is unhappy at work,
who does not risk certainty for uncertainty
to chase a dream,
who does not allow at least once in their lifetime
to run away from sensible advice.
He or she who does not travel,
does not read, does not listen to music,
who does not find grace in himself.
Dies slowly he who destroys pride,
who does not accept help;
who passes his days complaining of his bad luck
or the incessant rain.
Dies slowly he who abandons a project before starting it,
who does not ask questions on subjects he does not know
who does not answer when asked about something he knows.
Let's avoid death in small doses,
reminding oneself that being alive
requires an effort far greater
the simple act of breathing.
Only a burning patience
lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness.
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is sometimes erroneously attributed to Pablo Neruda
