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Relish the fresh landscape of my wound, break rushes and delicate rivulets, drink blood poured on honeyed thigh.

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
Delicate
Honeyed
Fresh
Rivulets
Wounds
Thigh
Landscape
Rushes
Drink
Poured
Blood
Thighs
Break
Relish
Wound

More quotes by Federico Garcia Lorca

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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.
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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.
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The world is a shoulder of dark meat (black flesh of an old mule). And the light is on the other side.
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Life is laughter amid a rosary of death.
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The mirror is the mother dew, the book of desiccated twilights, echo become flesh.
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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.
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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!
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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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Only mystery allows us to live, only mystery.
Federico Garcia Lorca
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...I am the immense shadow of my tears
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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Every step we take on earth brings us to a new world.
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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.
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Hail, mute devil! You are the most intense animal. An eternal mystic of the fleshly inferno.
Federico Garcia Lorca
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Angel and Muse approach from without the Angel sheds light and the Muse gives form (Hesiod learned of them). Gold leaf or chiton-folds: the poet finds his models in his laurel coppice. But the Duende, on the other hand, must come to life in the nethermost recesses of the blood.
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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.
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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.
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Little black horse. Where are you taking your dead rider?
Federico Garcia Lorca
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Today in my heart a vague trembling of stars and all roses are as white as my pain.
Federico Garcia Lorca
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Those who are afraid of death will carry it on their shoulders.
Federico Garcia Lorca