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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.

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
Lost
Million
Sliding
Money
Sea
Canyons
Enough
Lucky
Recent
Dead
Crash
Millions
Stock
Went
Several
Rabble
Eyes
Market
Fainting
Eye
Dollars
Ambulance

More quotes by Federico Garcia Lorca

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Every step we take on earth brings us to a new world.
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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.
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Relish the fresh landscape of my wound, break rushes and delicate rivulets, drink blood poured on honeyed thigh.
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All one's personality is embedded in gloves and hats after they've been good and used. Show me a glove and I'll tell you the character of its owner.
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Besides black art, there is only automation and mechanization.
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Woodcutter. Cut my shadow from me. Free me from the torment of being without fruit. Why was I born among mirrors? Day goes round and round me. The night copies me in all its stars. I want to live without my reflection. And then let me dream that ants and thistledown are my leaves and my parrots.
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Little black horse. Where are you taking your dead rider?
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Death laid its eggs in the wound
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Those who are afraid of death will carry it on their shoulders.
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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.
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The mirror is the mother dew, the book of desiccated twilights, echo become flesh.
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A poet must be a professor of the five senses and must open doors among them.
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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.
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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.
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In Spain, the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country in the world.
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Damned, damned be the rich! May not even their fingernails be left!... I'm sure that they are going to Hell head-first.
Federico Garcia Lorca
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My head is full of fire and grief and my tongue runs wild, pierced with shards of glass.
Federico Garcia Lorca
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With their souls of patent leather, they come down the road. Hunched and nocturnal, where they breathe they impose, silence of dark rubber, and fear of fine sand.
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To see you naked is to recall the Earth.
Federico Garcia Lorca
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In the garden I will die. In the rosebush they will kill me.
Federico Garcia Lorca