Top Federico Garcia Lorca Quotes

Federico Garcia Lorca Biography

Federico del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús García Lorca, known as Federico García Lorca[n 1] (Spanish pronunciation: [feðeˈɾiko ɣarˈθi.a ˈlorka]; 5 June 1898 – 19 August 1936) was a Spanish poet, playwright, and theatre director.

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Federico Garcia Lorca Quotes

The dancer's trembling heart must bring everything into harmony, from the tips of her shoes to the flutter of her eyelashes, from the ruffles of her dress to the incessant play of her fingers.

Everything, Eyelashes, Heart, Play

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.

Butterfly, Infinite, Musical, River, Stars, Wall

I put my head out of my window and see how much the wind’s knife wants to slice it off. On this unseen guillotine, I’ve placed the eyeless head of all my desires.

Desire, Knives, Placed, Slice, Wind, Window

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

Art, Essential, Essentials, Heart, Melancholy

New York is a meeting place for every race in the world, but the Chinese, Armenians, Russians, and Germans remain foreigners. So does everyone except the blacks. There is no doubt but that the blacks exercise great influence in North America, and, no matter what anyone says, they are the most delicate, spiritual element in that world.

Armenians, Blacks, Chinese, Exercise, New York, Spiritual

The Little Mute Boy The little boy was looking for his voice. (The king of the crickets had it. ) In a drop of water the little boy was looking for his voice. I do not want it for speaking with; I will make a ring of it so that he may wear my silence on his little finger In a drop of water the little boy was looking for his voice. (The captive voice, far away, put on a cricket's clothes. ) Translated by William S. Merwin

Boys, Clothes, Crickets, Finger, Kings, Mute

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.

Art, Common, Dark, Eye, Light, Love

Fire is fed by fire. The same small flame destroys Two stalks of wheat at once.

Fire, Flames, Same, Small, Two, Wheat

The world is a shoulder of dark meat (black flesh of an old mule). And the light is on the other side.

Black, Dark, Light, Shoulder

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

Alive, Dead, Men, Spain, World

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

Born, Die, Worried, Worry

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. Never as then, amid suicides, hysteria, and groups of fainting people, have I felt the sensation of real death, death without hope, death that is nothing but rottenness, for the spectacle was terrifying but devoid of greatness. . . I felt something like a divine urge to bombard that whole canyon of shadow, where ambulances collected suicides whose hands were full of rings.

Business, Dollars, Lost, Real, Shadow, Suicide

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.

Afraid, Dog, Leaves, Pain, Regret, River

If blue is dream what then innocence? What awaits the heart if Love bears no arrows?

Awaits, Blue, Dream, Heart, Love

Ditty of First Desire 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.

Color, Desire, Heart, Morning, Orange, Voice

The wounds were burning like suns at five in the afternoon, and the crowd broke the windows At five in the afternoon. Ah, that fatal five in the afternoon! It was five by all the clocks! It was five in the shade of the afternoon!

Afternoon, Burning, Crowds, Like, Windows

Not for a moment, beautiful aged Walt Whitman, have I failed to see your beard full of butterflies.

Aged, Beard, Beautiful, Butterfly, Full

In Spain, the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country in the world.

Alive, Country, Spain, World

Every step we take on earth brings us to a new world.

Brings, Earth, Steps, World

I'm afraid to be on this shore a trunk without limbs, and what I most regret is not to have flower, pulp, or clay for the worm of my suffering.

Clay, Flower, Regret, Shore, Suffering, Worm

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Federico Garcia Lorca Biography

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