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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.
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
Suffering
Worm
Without
Worms
Limbs
Clay
Shore
Regret
Trunk
Flower
Pulp
Afraid
Trunks
More quotes by 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
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
Those who are afraid of death will carry it on their shoulders.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Every step we take on earth brings us to a new world.
Federico Garcia Lorca
The important thing in life is to let the years carry us along.
Federico Garcia Lorca
In the garden I will die. In the rosebush they will kill me.
Federico Garcia Lorca
A nation that does not support and encourage its theater is - if not dead - dying just as a theater that does not capture with laughter and tears the social and historical pulse, the drama of its people, the genuine color of the spiritual and natural landscape, has no right to call itself theater but only a place for amusement.
Federico Garcia Lorca
If I told you the whole story it would never end...What's happened to me has happened to a thousand woman.
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
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
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.
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
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
To see you naked is to recall the Earth.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Relish the fresh landscape of my wound, break rushes and delicate rivulets, drink blood poured on honeyed thigh.
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
Green how I love you green. Green wind. Green boughs. The ship on the sea And the horse on the mountain.
Federico Garcia Lorca
I will always be on the side of those who have nothing and who are not even allowed to enjoy the nothing they have in peace.
Federico Garcia Lorca
A poet must be a professor of the five senses and must open doors among them.
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