Quotes from Federico Garcia Lorca

LA PONCIA: Ésta tiene algo. La encuentro sin sosiego, temblona, asustada, como si tuviese una lagartija entre los pechos.

La rosa, no buscaba ni ciencia ni sombra: confín de carne y sueño, buscaba otra cosa. La rosa, no buscaba la rosa.

Siempre estaré del lado de aquellos que no tienen nada y que ni siquiera pueden disfrutar de nada de lo que tienen en paz.

El silencio redondo de la noche sobre el pentágrama del infinito.

ROMANCERO SONÁMBULO VERDE que te quiero verde. Verde viento. Verdes ramas. El barco sobre la mar y el caballo en la montaña. Con la sombra en la cintura, ella sueña en su baranda verde carne, pelo verde, con ojos de fría plata. Verde que te quiero verde. Bajo la luna gitana, las cosas la están mirando y ella no puede mirarlas.

Siete gritos, siete sangres, siete dormideras dobles, quebraron opacas lunas en los oscuros salones.

This isn't a strange place for the dance, I tell you. The mask will dance among columns of blood and numbers, among hurricanes of gold and groans of the unemployed, who will howl, in the dead of night, for your dark time.

When you look more closely at the mechanism of social life and the painful slavery of both men and machines, you see that it is nothing but a kind of typical empty anguish that makes even crime and gangs forgivable means of escape.

He conjures up the lemon groves of slumbrous Málaga, his lament carries hints of sea salt. Like Homer he sang blind. His voice had something of sea without light. . ." (. . .Evoca los limonares de Málaga la dormida, y hay en su llanto dejos de sal marina. Como Homero, cantó ciego. Su voz tenía algo de mar sin luz. . ." -- Federico García Lorca, Selected Poems (Puffin Modern Classics)

Pero ya habrán mezclado sus sangres y serán como dos cántaros vacíos, como dos arroyos secos.

THE POOL Horned owl Stops his meditations, cleans his glasses, sighs. A firefly spins downhill & a star slides by. Old owl shaked his wings, takes up his meditations.

To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.

To see you naked is to recall the Earth.

I know there is no straight road No straight road in this world Only a giant labyrinth Of intersecting crossroads

Never let me lose the marvel of your statue-like eyes, or the accent the solitary rose of your breath places on my cheek at night. I am afraid of being, on this shore, a branchless trunk, and what I most regret is having no flower, pulp, or clay for the worm of my despair. If you are my hidden treasure, if you are my cross, my dampened pain, if I am a dog, and you alone my master, never let me lose what I have gained, and adorn the branches of your river with leaves of my estranged Autumn.

At the heart of all great art is an essential melancholy.

Today in my heart a vague trembling of stars and all roses are as white as my pain.

As I have not worried to be born, I do not worry to die.

We're all curious about what might hurt us.

My head is full of fire and grief and my tongue runs wild, pierced with shards of glass.

I can't listen to you. I can't listen to your voice. It's as though I'd drunk a bottle of anise and fallen asleep wrapped in a quilt of roses. It pulls me along – and I know I'm drowning – but I go on down.

In the green morning I wanted to be a heart. A heart. And in the ripe evening I wanted to be a nightingale. A nightingale. (Soul, turn orange-colored. Soul, turn the color of love.) In the vivid morning I wanted to be myself. A heart. And at the evening's end I wanted to be my voice. A nightingale. Soul, turn orange-colored. Soul, turn the color of love. - Ditty of First Desire

La poesía no quiere adeptos, quiere amantes.

Vamos al rincón oscuro, donde yo siempre te quiera, que no me importe la gente, ni el veneno que nos echa.