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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.
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
Dark
Mule
Black
Mules
Light
Shoulder
World
Shoulders
Meat
Flesh
Side
Sides
More quotes by 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
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
A poet must be a professor of the five senses and must open doors among them.
Federico Garcia Lorca
The mirror is the mother dew, the book of desiccated twilights, echo become flesh.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Besides black art, there is only automation and mechanization.
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
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
Green how I want you green. Green wind. Green branches.
Federico Garcia Lorca
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.
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 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
Those who are afraid of death will carry it on their shoulders.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Everything's a fan. Brother, open up your arms. God is the pivot.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Relish the fresh landscape of my wound, break rushes and delicate rivulets, drink blood poured on honeyed thigh.
Federico Garcia Lorca
Every step we take on earth brings us to a new world.
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
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
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
Today in my heart a vague trembling of stars and all roses are as white as my pain.
Federico Garcia Lorca
