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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
Dead
Crash
Millions
Stock
Went
Several
Rabble
Eyes
Market
Fainting
Eye
Dollars
Ambulance
Lost
Million
Sliding
Money
Sea
Canyons
Enough
Lucky
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More quotes by Federico Garcia Lorca
A poet must be a professor of the five senses and must open doors among them.
Federico Garcia Lorca
The one thing life has taught me is that most people spend their lives bottled up inside their houses doing the things they hate.
Federico Garcia Lorca
To see you naked is to recall the Earth.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Every step we take on earth brings us to a new world.
Federico Garcia Lorca
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.
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
Besides black art, there is only automation and mechanization.
Federico Garcia Lorca
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.
Federico Garcia Lorca
I've often lost myself, in order to find the burn that keeps everything awake
Federico Garcia Lorca
Everything's a fan. Brother, open up your arms. God is the pivot.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Those who are afraid of death will carry it on their shoulders.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Little black horse. Where are you taking your dead rider?
Federico Garcia Lorca
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.
Federico Garcia Lorca
The theater has to impose itself on the public, and not the public on the theater... The word Art should be written everywhere, in the auditorium and in the dressing rooms, before the word Business gets written there.
Federico Garcia Lorca
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.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Green how I want you green. Green wind. Green branches.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Relish the fresh landscape of my wound, break rushes and delicate rivulets, drink blood poured on honeyed thigh.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Only mystery allows us to live, only mystery.
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
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