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At the heart of all great art is an essential melancholy.
Federico Garcia Lorca
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Federico Garcia Lorca
Age: 38 †
Born: 1898
Born: June 5
Died: 1936
Died: August 19
Author
Drawer
Lyricist
Musician
Playwright
Poet
Theatrical Director
Madrid
Spain
García Lorca
García Lorca
Federico
G. F. Lorca
Federiḳo Garsiyah Lorḳah
Federiko Garsii︠a︡ Lorka
Federiko Garsia Lorka
Federico Carcía Lorca
Phenteriko Gkarthia Lorka
Lorka
Phederiko Gkarthia Lorka
F. García Lorca
Federico Garcia Lorca
F. G. Lorca
Frederico Garcia Lorca
Lorca
Federico Garciá Lorca
Federico del Sagrado Corazon de Je
Melancholy
Essential
Essentials
Art
Great
Heart
More quotes by Federico Garcia Lorca
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.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Men like to pleasure us, girl. They like to undo our plaits and give us water to drink from their own mouths. That's what makes the world go round.
Federico Garcia Lorca
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.
Federico Garcia Lorca
My head is full of fire and grief and my tongue runs wild, pierced with shards of glass.
Federico Garcia Lorca
The artist, and particularly the poet, is always an anarchist in the best sense of the word. He must heed only the call that arises within him from three strong voices: the voice of death, with all its foreboding, the voice of love and the voice of art.
Federico Garcia Lorca
What matters most has an ultimate metallic quality of death. The chasuble and the wagon wheel, the razor and the prickly beards of shepherds, the bare moon, a fly, humid cupboards, rubble piles, the images of saints covered in lace, quicklime, and the wounding edges of the rooflines and watchtowers.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Little black horse. Where are you taking your dead rider?
Federico Garcia Lorca
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.
Federico Garcia Lorca
What's the furthest corner? Because that's where I want to be, alone with the only thing that I love.
Federico Garcia Lorca
In the garden I will die. In the rosebush they will kill me.
Federico Garcia Lorca
The important thing in life is to let the years carry us along.
Federico Garcia Lorca
There is nothing more poetic and terrible than the skyscrapers' battle with the heavens that cover them. Snow, rain, and mist highlight, drench, or conceal the vast towers, but those towers, hostile to mystery and blind to any sort of play, shear off the rain's tresses and shine their three thousand swords through the soft swan of the fog.
Federico Garcia Lorca
New York is something awful, something monstrous. I like to walk the streets, lost, but I recognize that New York is the world's greatest lie. New York is Senegal with machines.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Hail, mute devil! You are the most intense animal. An eternal mystic of the fleshly inferno.
Federico Garcia Lorca
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!
Federico Garcia Lorca
Today in my heart a vague trembling of stars and all roses are as white as my pain.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Every step we take on earth brings us to a new world.
Federico Garcia Lorca
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.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Everything's a fan. Brother, open up your arms. God is the pivot.
Federico Garcia Lorca
The world is a shoulder of dark meat (black flesh of an old mule). And the light is on the other side.
Federico Garcia Lorca