THE 100 BEST PHRASES OF JOAQUÍN SABINA [WITH IMAGES] - OTHER PHRASES - 2025

I leave you the best phrases of Joaquín Sabina, singer-songwriter, Spanish poet and one of the great artists of today. His songs include 19 days and 500 nights, And they gave us ten o'clock, And yet I love you, On the boulevard of broken dreams, Closed for demolition, Princess, With you, among others.

You may also be interested in these rock phrases or these of music.

-You forced me to choose between you and the poison. I tossed a coin and it came up tails. -Post.

-And they gave us ten and eleven, twelve and one and two and three, and naked at nightfall the moon found us. -And they got ten.

-Removable things, butterflies with brown blood, carnivals in the outskirts of my heart. - Don't allow the virgin.

-Of holy reproach, I loved her so much that it took me nineteen days and five hundred nights to learn to forget her. She said hello and goodbye and the door slammed like a question mark. I suspect that this was how he avenged himself, through oblivion. -19 days and 500 nights.

-When the city paints its lips neon, you will get on my cardboard horse. They may steal your days… your nights, no. –Cardboard horse.

-Girls no longer want to be princesses, and boys take to chasing the sea in a glass of gin. Let's say I'm talking about Madrid. - Let's say I'm talking about Madrid.

-And only the heart wanders through the streets, without a bad kiss to put on the mouth. And the cold wind of humiliation blows, debasing every body it touches. -Want to…

-Because I'm going out tonight with you, the cathedrals will be without blessed, and we will be two cats sheltered by the portals. –Tonight with you.

-And that's how I learned, that in stories of two it is sometimes convenient to lie, that certain deceptions are narcotic against the evil of love. "White lies."

-It is not your business, you will tell me, period, but recognize that it is hard to accept, because there is no human being who lends a hand, who does not want to be helped. - Suicidal drivers.

-But if they give me a choice between all the lives, I choose that of the lame pirate, with a wooden leg, with an eye patch, with a mean face. "The one with the lame pirate."

-What do you want? I learned to live badly from the story, painting self-portraits to the bearer. If emotions are lacking, I invent them, dawn has no heart. –Let's go south.

-Yesterday Julieta denounced Romeo for mistreatment, in court. When reason and desire lie down, it rains on wet. -Rains, it pours.

-Wandering like a taxi through the desert, burned like the Chernovyl sky, just like a poet at the airport, that's how I am, that's how I am, without you. "That's how I am without you."

-And get out of there to defend bread and joy. And get out of there so they know this mouth is mine. "This mouth is mine."

-The crying in the corners of oblivion, the ash that remains, the remains, the child we have never had, the time of pain, the holes. -Inventory.

-The ballad of the abandoned, with a saxophone out of tune. The song that they sing from bar to bar, those who drink to forget. "Give me one more drink."

-I live from cancer one step away, without paying attention to those who say "hey, Sabina", be careful with nicotine. "Hey, Sabina."

- The song that I write to you, is not more than a postscript. If you dance it with someone else, don't remember me. -Postscript.

-Twenty years of poorly cured myths, drawing Dieguitos and Mafaldas. It would have taken me twenty lives to count the moles on his back. –Dieguitos and Mafaldas.

-And if it finally dawns, and the Sun lit the hoods of the cars. Lower the blinds. It depends on you and on me, that between the two of us it remains yesterday night. –And if it finally dawns.

-How many nights at dawn, I shuffle the bald spot that threatens under my hair. How many afternoons do I forget the flower in the subsoil? -Oh! Dew.

-How have you been led to a dead end? The best gifted of suicide drivers. - Suicidal drivers.

- Worse for the sun that sets at seven, in the cradle of the sea to snore, while a servant lifts her skirt to the moon. "Worse for the sun."

-And, in the chorus of Babel, a Spanish goes out of tune. There is no law but the law of the treasury, in King Solomon's mines. And braving the waves, without a rudder or helmsman. –City fish.

-And we don't end up in bed, which is where these things end. Burning together at the stake, skin, sweat, saliva and shadow. - Treatise of impatience number 10.

-We said goodbye, hopefully we'll see each other again, summer is over, autumn lasted as long as winter takes, and chance for your people, again the following summer. He took me, and at the end of the concert I started looking for your face among the people. -And they got ten.

-My hiding place, my treble clef, my wristwatch, an Ali Baba lamp inside a top hat, I didn't know that spring lasted a second, I wanted to write the most beautiful song in the world. -The most beautiful song in the world.

-On the boulevard of broken dreams, a tear wets old photos, and a song makes fun of fear. Bitterness is not bitter, when Chavela Vargas sings them, and a certain José Alfredo writes them. - On the boulevard of broken dreams.

-Blue plastic tears with farewell flavor. When will the bus cross this dead end? Cigarette paper lips, sages who know nothing, hospital flower petals, mutinous cobwebs. –Blue plastic tears.

-You do not need permission, to roll naked on the floor, like two deaf-mutes with no other paradise than the one that my tongue invokes, at the gates of heaven from your mouth. –I already ejaculated.

-Female and lady who change skin every hour, slutty and decent. Sweet rattlesnake, tar flower. Rain that rains. Kisses with salt. –Kisses with salt.

-Let the temptation pass, tell that girl not to call anymore. And if your heart protests, at the pharmacy you can ask: do you have pills to prevent dreaming? -Pills not to dream.

-And life went on, as things continue that don't make much sense. A mutual friend once told me that he saw her where oblivion lives. - Where oblivion lives.

"Survivor, yes, damn it!" I will never tire of celebrating it, before the tide destroys the traces of my marble tears. If I had to dance with the ugliest, I lived to sing it. –Marble tears.

-I know because I've spent more than one night there in search of the seven keys to the mystery, seven sad verses for a song, seven chrysanthemums in the cemetery. –Seven chrysanthemums.

-Who else, who less, paid dearly for five hundred cheap nights, and traded the family for two mulatto women, with obscene asses. Who else, who less, clung to a burning nail not to fall, riddled with kisses like a John Lennon, from Lavapiés. - Who else, who less.

-I deny everything, those powders and these muds, I deny everything, even the truth. The legend of the suicide, and that of the stray bullet. That of the holy drunkard. If you tell me my life, I deny everything. –I deny everything.

-But how beautiful she was, when she walked with my arm on the sidewalk. Have you looked at me? Asking that hottie to love me, don't you think it was asking too much of him? "But how beautiful they were."

-My upstairs neighbor is the big bad wolf, who goes to football on Sunday and watches television, who gains twenty kilos if you call him sir, who paints on the walls: "red to the wall." "My upstairs neighbor."

-To you who have decided not to pay attention, to phrases like "that man is going to be your ruin." To you who have stopped the clock with a kiss. You who make me sick, you who are my poisoned medicine. -To you that you do.

-Defeated, bald and stiff he stayed in the bones that day, when he caught his wife in the middle of an orgy, with the member of the member (how ironic!). The dumbest in Congress. –The blues of what happens on my stairs.

-More than a hundred words, more than a hundred reasons not to cut your veins at once, more than a hundred pupils to see ourselves alive, more than a hundred lies that are worth it. –More than a hundred lies.

-They discovered that the kisses did not taste like anything, there was an epidemic of sadness in the city, the footsteps were erased, the heartbeat died, and with so much noise the noise of the sea was not heard. -Noise.

-And the kisses I am giving poison me. And yet when I sleep without you, I dream of you, and with everyone if you sleep next to me. And if you leave, I go across the rooftops, like a cat without an owner. –And yet.

-By the wrinkles in my voice, the desolation is filtered, knowing that these are the last verses that I write to you. To say "with God" to both, we have plenty of reasons. - We have plenty of reasons.

-The producers, who know about women, would give him a paper, a strawberry nipple, a caramel tongue, a bromide heart. Supervedette, luxury whore, model, soap opera star. –Barbi superstar.

-So, for now, no goodbye guys, I fall asleep at the funerals of my generation. Every night I make up myself, I still get drunk. So young and so old, "like a Rolling Stone." "So young and so old."

-The kisses that bad girls give you are more expensive when they are given, and they smell of failure. But the dealer played me good cards, and the platinum blonde was a brunette, and the case was a great case. "The case of the platinum blonde."

-Now that we stay in bed, Monday, Tuesday and holydays. Now that I don't remember the pajamas, I don't cut the crossword, I don't kill myself if you leave. -Now what…

- Tender heart, the owners of summer pamper her, but winter never takes it off her. With her dollar face she has written off several husbands, but she is always alone putting a candle to Cupid. –Poor Cristina.

-Rasputin is dead, the cold war is over, long live gastronomy. And one does not know whether to laugh or cry, watching Rambo in Bucharest smoke the pipe of peace. -The Berlin Wall.

-But I'm still here, you see. Saved by the bell, with my name on your target, with your mouth on the apple of the Lucifer tree. –For delicacy.

-I live at number seven, calle Melancolía, I have wanted to move to the neighborhood of joy for years. But whenever I try, the tram has already left, on the stairs I sit down, whistling my melody. -Melancolía Street.

-But today's program said nothing of this sea eclipse, of this somersault, of your voice shivering on the answering machine tape, of the stains that oblivion leaves across the mattress. -Eclipse of the sea.

-Water extinguishes the fire and the burning of the years, love is called the game in which a couple of blind men play to hurt themselves. And worse and worse, and more and more broken. –Love is called the game.

-I, on the other hand, have not known how to go with the wind, which bites the corners of this impious city. Poor apprentice sorcerer who spits at the sky, from a luxury hotel, with two empty beds. –Empty beds.

-Neither innocent nor guilty, hearts that the storm destroys, cannon meat. It's not me or you or anyone else. They are the miserable fingers that wind my watch. –Love is called the game.

-If you find her at a zebra crossing, tell her that I wrote her a blues, she wore black stockings, a plaid scarf, a blue miniskirt. –Black stockings.

-I went to your stall on the flea market every Sunday to buy you breadcrumb puppets, tin horses. I wanted to fall in love with the water of an Andalusian sea, but you had no other love than that of Rio de la Plata. -With the withered forehead.

-To sum up, I have a Pandora signature drawer. Thirty-seven chansons, c'est a dire, one and a half an hour. Not counting the sonnets, the verses, the letters. The drunk inkwells that I milk daily. -Summarizing.

-I can get corny and say that your lips taste the same to me as the lips I kiss in my dreams. I can get sad and say that it is enough for me to be your enemy, your everything, your slave, your fever your owner. -On the edge of the fireplace.

-Without wings to fly, fugitives from the institute and from the bed, birds from Portugal. Just two minutes, bad reputation. –Birds of Portugal.

-Lemon tiramisu, brandy ice cream, lounge puritan, snake tanguita. -Lemon Tiramisu.

-I'm not afraid of you anymore, baby, but I can't follow you on your journey. How many times would I have given my whole life, because you asked me to take your luggage. Now it's too late princess, find yourself another dog to bark at you princess. -Princess.

-Don't trust anyone who tells you "be careful", just try not to escape from his side, before his reproaches annihilate you, let him sleep and at midnight go out the window, start the car and step on the accelerator… "Hit the gas."

-She had small feet and marijuana green eyes.-Barbi Superstar.

-The pictures went on strike in the museums, Paris was red, San Francisco was blue, a homeless man was elected mayor and the Sorbonne was in Kathmandu, Survive you idiot!.- 1968.

-If the pillow turns your back, look for the frequency modulation, an alibi, to land on the moon. -69 point G.

-It is rock or death to drink coca cola, to sing this song that spring is going to last very little that tomorrow is Monday and last night it rained.-1968.

-At fourteen years of age, she was queen of the school, the same year I held back.-Barbi Superstar.

-Sleep alone like every night, and a salty tear with the taste of the jam of tenderness cushions the floor of her room where a mirror steals her beauty..-Kisses on the forehead.

-The neighbors of the eighth floor right said "Another one that went wrong".- Barbi Superstar.

-She had a future in the eyes of hungry, mature men. Falling in love a little more than it should, was a bad investment.-Barbi Superstar.

- At 69 G point there is an office that nobody wins by playing chess, fortune tellers announce, aldines aladdin and if you run with just a stroke of luck, they can give you a tip. -69 G point

-Fuck you go through shortcuts, syringes, recipes. -Barbi Superstar.

-The kisses I lost, because I don't know how to say I need you.-Dieguitos and Mafaldas.

-Yesterday, the garbage aspect, she told me in the toilet of a bar: "Where is the song you made for me when you were a poet?" -I ended up so sad that I could never start it. -Barbi Superstar.

-Poetry took to the streets, we recognized our faces, we knew that everything was possible in 1968.-1968.

-Marx does not allow his children to be late to the sweet bonfire of the insurrection.-1968.

-In beautiful Mexico they were shooting to kill while Che was digging his grave in Bolivia Massiel sang at Eurovision and my father was at the time working with a white collar and a brown suit. -1968.

"We will be your umbilical cord, His confessional, the ointment. Put your headphones on in the dark." 69 point G.

-Our lasted almost as long as two ice fish in a whiskey on the rocks. -19 days 50 nights.

-A thousand years they took to die, but finally he died.-Guess, Riddle.

-I'm looking for a meeting perhaps to brighten my day, but I can't find anything, and the doors deny hiding.-Calle Melancolia.

-I do not want a civilized love, with the receipts and the scenes on the sofa, I do not want you to travel to the past, that when you return from the market makes you want to cry.-With you.

-For his civilian burial it was Napoleon, Torquemada1, and the horse of the noble Cid Campeador.-Guess, Riddle.

-I miss you like a duck in the Manzanares, I'm clumsy like a suicide without vocation, absurd like a Belgian for soleares, empty like an island without Robinson.-That's how I am without you.

-Tolito has a die and a dove, a cough and a glass full of wine, and some ropes with the dirt of the roads, roads that never lead to Rome.-Balada de Tolito.

-When the game ends, everyone finds a partner, except Lola who remains, without being kissed.-Kisses on the forehead.

-The neighborhood where I live is not a kind of meadow, only a desolate landscape of antennas and telephone cables.-Melancholy street.

-What I want, cowardly heart is for you to die for me.-With you.

-With her good pair of crocodile shoes, not even the Venus de Milo can resist her, especially if you pay for a Frenchman twice what you earn in Madrid working for a month.-With a pair.

-The city where I live has grown with its back towards the sky, the city where I live is the true map of loneliness.-Neon Heart.

-She doesn't remember anything from last night. Too many beers, she said, when she had her head on the pillow. "Where oblivion dwells."

-Use my key whenever you are cold, when the north wind leaves you in the lurch.-When you are cold.

-It has been too many months since my buffoonery provokes your willingness to smile. Not that I stopped caring, but those days of kisses and sweat is bedtime.-A game called love.

-Every time I try the train has already left, so I sit in the stairwell to whistle my melody.-Melancholy street.

-I'm on the way back, said a guy who never went anywhere.-Run said the turtle.

-After so long you finally left, and instead of regretting it, I decided to take it easy and open my balcony wide and shake the dust from all the corners of my soul.-As a UN explorer.

-Magician of the decks of cards and smiles, itinerant juggler of the open squares, heart that comes out through the shirt, walking boots without haste or half-sole.- Balada de tolito.

-I am talking to you, to you, who never follow my suggestions, to you I am yelling, to you, who has been stuck in my skin, to you who are crying there, on the other side of the mirror. the turtle.

-I who, in matters of love, have never been guided by appearance, I have found a lustful butterfly on her hip.-Kisses on the forehead.

-I do not want to sow or share, I do not want any Valentine's Day, or a happy birthday.-With you.

-She abandoned me, as one abandons those old shoes. She broke the glass of my myopic glasses, took out of the mirror her spitting image. -19 days 50 nights.

-Heart, heart, heart, heart made of cement.-Neon heart.

-The day he came, he had dark circles and mud on his heel. Naked, but strange, in the light of day the night discovered us.-Where oblivion dwells.

-In other eyes I forgot your look. In other lips I deceived the dawn and in other hair I cured myself from the despair of wetting the pillow.-As a UN explorer.

-When I investigate the summer in an empty dream, when the cold burns you if you take my hand, when the exhausted light has shadows from yesterday, when the dawn is another frozen night.-Black cloud.