42 Federico Garcia Lorca Quotes

Federico Garcia Lorca quotes

1. Caballito negro. ?Donde llevas tu jinete muerto?

2. Verde que te quiero verde. Verde viento. Verdes ramas. El barco sobre la mar y el caballo en la montana.

3. Los caballos negros son. Las herraduras son negras. Sobre las capas relucen manchas de tinta y de cera. Tienen, por eso no lloran, de plomo las calaveras. Con el alma de charol vienen por la carretera.

4. Las heridas quemaban como soles a las cinco de la tarde, y el gentio rompia las ventanas a las cinco de la tarde. A las cinco de la tarde. ?Ay que terribles cinco de la tarde! ?Eran las cinco en todos los relojes! ?Eran las cinco en sombra de la tarde!

5. ?Que no quiero verla! Dile a la luna que venga, que no quiero ver la sangre de Ignacio sobre la arena. ?Que no quiero verla!

6. Pero ya duerme sin fin. Ya los musgos y la hierba abren con dedos seguros la flor de su calavera. Y su sangre ya viene cantando: cantando por marismas y praderas, resbalando por cuernos ateridos, vacilando sin alma por la niebla, tropezando con miles de pezunas como una larga, oscura, triste lengua, para formar un charco de agonia junto al Guadalquivir de las estrellas. ?Oh blanco muro de Espana! ?Oh negro toro de pena! ?Oh sangre dura de Ignacio! ?Oh ruisenor de sus venas!

7. No te conoce el toro ni la higuera, ni caballos ni hormigas de tu casa. No te conoce el nino ni la tarde porque te has muerto para siempre. No te conoce el lomo de la piedra, ni el raso negro donde te destrozas. No te conoce tu recuerdo mudo porque te has muerto para siempre. El otono vendra con caracolas, uva de niebla y montes agrupados, pero nadie querra mirar tus ojos porque te has muerto para siempre. Porque te has muerto para siempre, como todos los muertos de la Tierra, como todos los muertos que se olvidan en un monton de perros apagados. No te conoce nadie. No. Pero yo te canto. Yo canto para luego tu perfil y tu gracia. La madurez insigne de tu conocimiento. Tu apetencia de muerte y el gusto de tu boca. La tristeza que tuvo tu valiente alegria.

8. Verte desnuda es recordar la Tierra.

9. Como no me he preocupado de nacer, no me preocupo de morir.

10. El remanso del aire bajo la rama del eco. El remanso del agua bajo fronda de luceros. El remanso de tu boca bajo espesura de besos.

11. Un muerto en Espana esta mas vivo como muerto que en ningun sitio del mundo.

12. ?No me mires mas! Si quieres te dare mis ojos, que son frescos, y mis espaldas para que te compongas la joroba que tienes.

13. Las viejas vemos a traves de las paredes.

14. Siempre has sido lista. Has visto lo malo de las gentes a cien leguas... Pero los hijos son los hijos. Ahora estas ciega.

1. In each thing there is an insinuation of death. Stillness, silence, serenity are all apprenticeships.

2. I will always be on the side of those who have nothing and who are not even allowed to enjoy the nothing they have in peace.

3. Everyone understands the pain that accompanies death, but genuine pain doesn't live in the spirit, nor in the air, nor in our lives, nor on these terraces of billowing smoke. The genuine pain that keeps everything awake is a tiny, infinite burn on the innocent eyes of other systems.

4. Little black horse. Where are you taking your dead rider?

5. While the poet wrestles with the horses on his brain and the sculptor wounds his eyes on the hard spark of alabaster, the dancer battles the air around her, air that threatens at any moment to destroy her harmony or to open huge open empty spaces where her rhythm will be annihilated.

6. Moon like a large stainedglass window that breaks on the ocean.

7. Death, lonely death, Beneath the withered leaves.

8. The poem, the song, the picture, is only water drawn from the well of the people, and it should be given back to them in a cup of beauty so that they may drink - and in drinking understand themselves.

9. There is nothing more poetic and terrible than the skyscrapers' battle with the heavens that cover them.

10. Pero yo ya no soy yo Ni mi casa es ya mi casa. But now I am no longer I, nor is my house any longer my house.

11. If I told you the whole story it would never end...What's happened to me has happened to a thousand woman.

12. The moon carries the masks of meningitis into bedrooms, fills the wombs of pregnant women with cold water and, as soon as I'm not careful, throws handfuls of grass on my shoulders.

13. A dead man in Spain is more alive than a dead man anywhere in the world.

14. The one thing life has taught me is that most people spend their lives bottled up inside their houses doing the things they hate.

15. At first glance, the rhythm may be confused with gaiety, but 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.

16. I'm hurt, hurt and humiliated beyond endurance, seeing the wheat ripening, the fountains never ceasing to give water, the sheep bearing hundreds oflambs, the she-dogs, until it seems the whole country risesto show me its tender sleepingyoung while I feel two hammer-blows here instead of the mouth of my child.

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

18. Oh honey, there's nothing new on this earth when it comes to what men and women do in the dark. First love is when you learn. So you've learned that love can open you up like spring sun on a wee primrose. Good. Remember that. You know how to love.

19. The terrible, cold, cruel part is Wall Street. Rivers of gold flow there from all over the earth, and death comes with it. There, as nowhere else, you feel a total absence of the spirit: herds of men who cannot count past three, herds more who cannot get past six, scorn for pure science and demoniacal respect for the present. And the terrible thing is that the crowd that fills the street believes that the world will always be the same and that it is their duty to keep that huge machine running, day and night, forever.

20. I was lucky enough to see with my own eyes the recent stock-market crash, where they lost several million dollars, a rabble of dead money that went sliding off into the sea.

21. Just as the light and weightless vegetation of saltpeter floats over the old walls of houses as soon as the owner gets careless, so the literary vocation springs up in you.

22. Hour of Stars (1920) The round silence of night, one note on the stave of the infinite. Ripe with lost poems, I step naked into the street. The blackness riddled by the singing of crickets: sound, that dead will-o'-the-wisp, that musical light perceived by the spirit. A thousand butterfly skeletons sleep within my walls. A wild crowd of young breezes over the river.

23. What you wouldn't have suspected lives & trembles in the air. Those treasures of the day you keep just out of reach. These come & go in truckloads but no one stops to see them.

24. Life is laughter amid a rosary of death.

25. I sing your restless longing for the statue, your fear of the feelings that await you in the street. I sing the small sea siren who sings to you, riding her bicycle of corals and conches. But above all I sing a common thought that joins us in the dark and golden hours. The light that blinds our eyes is not art. Rather it is love, friendship, crossed swords.

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

27. I have often lost myself in the sea, ears full of newly cut flowers, tongue full of love and agony.

28. What shall I say about poetry? What shall I say about those clouds, or about the sky? Look; look at them; look at it! And nothing more. Don't you understand anything about poetry? Leave that to the critics and the professors. For neither you, nor I, nor any poet knows what poetry is.