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Federico Garcia Lorca

Federico Garcia Lorca Quotes

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Famous Federico Garcia Lorca Quotes

“Never let me lose the marvel of your statue-like eyes, or the accent the solitary rose of your breath places on my cheek at night. I am afraid of being, on this shore, a branchless trunk, and what I most regret is having no flower, pulp, or clay for the worm of my despair. If you are my hidden treasure, if you are my cross, my dampened pain, if I am a dog, and you alone my master, never let me lose what I have gained, and adorn the branches of your river with leaves of my estranged Autumn.”

IfsEyePainNightLosesDogFlowerMastersRegretDespairRiversCrossesLet MeBreathsRoseTreasureBranchesAutumnShoreCheeksSolitaryAccentsWormsClayStatuesTrunksPulpHidden Treasure
Author:Federico Garcia Lorca
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“Night of Sleepless Love The night above. We two. Full moon. I started to weep, you laughed. Your scorn was a god, my laments moments and doves in a chain. The night below. We two. Crystal of pain. You wept over great distances. My ache was a clutch of agonies over your sickly heart of sand. Dawn married us on the bed, our mouths to the frozen spout of unstaunched blood. The sun came through the shuttered balcony and the coral of life opened its branches over my shrouded heart.”

HeartTwoMomentsPainNightSunBloodBedMoonMarriedMouthsDistanceChainsDawnBranchesSandLaughedAgonyFrozenAcheScornCrystalsDoveLamentClutchFull MoonBalconies
Author:Federico Garcia Lorca
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“The Little Mute Boy The little boy was looking for his voice. (The king of the crickets had it.) In a drop of water the little boy was looking for his voice. I do not want it for speaking with; I will make a ring of it so that he may wear my silence on his little finger In a drop of water the little boy was looking for his voice. (The captive voice, far away, put on a cricket's clothes.) Translated by William S. Merwin”

WantMayLittlesVoiceWaterSilenceBoysKingsClothesFingersRingsFar AwayCricketLittle BoysMuteCaptivesDrop Of Water
Author:Federico Garcia Lorca
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“Ditty of First Desire In the green morning I wanted to be a heart. A heart. And in the ripe evening I wanted to be a nightingale. A nightingale. (Soul, turn orange-colored. Soul, turn the color of love.) In the vivid morning I wanted to be myself. A heart. And at the evening's end I wanted to be my voice. A nightingale. Soul, turn orange-colored. Soul, turn the color of love.”

FirstsHeartSoulEndsWantedDesireTurnsVoiceMorningColorGreenEveningOrangeVividRipeNightingales
Author:Federico Garcia Lorca
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“The weeping of the guitar begins. The goblets of dawn are smashed. The weeping of the guitar begins. Useless to silence it. Impossible to silence it. It weeps monotonously as water weeps as the wind weeps over snowfields. Impossible to silence it. It weeps for distant things. Hot southern sands yearning for white camellias. Weeps arrow without target evening without morning and the first dead bird on the branch. Oh, guitar! Heart mortally wounded by five swords.”

FirstsHeartWaterWhiteSilenceMorningFiveImpossibleWindBirdHotGuitarEveningUselessDawnBranchesSandTargetSouthernYearningWoundedArrowsWeepingCamellias
Author:Federico Garcia Lorca
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“Hour of Stars (1920) The round silence of night, one note on the stave of the infinite. Ripe with lost poems, I step naked into the street. The blackness riddled by the singing of crickets: sound, that dead will-o'-the-wisp, that musical light perceived by the spirit. A thousand butterfly skeletons sleep within my walls. A wild crowd of young breezes over the river.”

LightYoungSpiritNightLostStarsSoundHoursSleepSilenceStepsStreetsWallThousandSingingRiversInfiniteNotesRoundsMusicalCrowdsNakedButterflyCricketBreezeRipeBlacknessSkeletonsWisps
Author:Federico Garcia Lorca
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“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.”

PlayThreeHeavenMysteryTerribleBattleThousandRainBlindShiningSnowPoeticTowersFogHostileMistHighlightsSwansSkyscraperTresses
Author:Federico Garcia Lorca
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“I sing your restless longing for the statue, your fear of the feelings that await you in the street. I sing the small sea siren who sings to you, riding her bicycle of corals and conches. But above all I sing a common thought that joins us in the dark and golden hours. The light that blinds our eyes is not art. Rather it is love, friendship, crossed swords.”

ArtFeelingsLightEyeHoursDarkCommonSeaStreetsLongingGoldenRidingRestlessStatuesBicycleFriendship LoveSirensGolden Hour
Author:Federico Garcia Lorca
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“Variación / Variations El remanso de aire bajo la rama del eco. El remanso del agua bajo fronda de luceros. El remanso de tu boca bajo espesura de besos. * The still waters of the air under the bough of the echo. The still waters of the water under a frond of stars. The still waters of your mouth under a thicket of kisses. Translated from the Spanish by Lysander Kemp”

StillsStarsWaterAirKissingMouthsEchoesVariationRamaEcoStill WatersThickets
Author:Federico Garcia Lorca
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“The terrible, cold, cruel part is Wall Street. Rivers of gold flow there from all over the earth, and death comes with it. There, as nowhere else, you feel a total absence of the spirit: herds of men who cannot count past three, herds more who cannot get past six, scorn for pure science and demoniacal respect for the present. And the terrible thing is that the crowd that fills the street believes that the world will always be the same and that it is their duty to keep that huge machine running, day and night, forever.”

MenWorldFeelsBelieveRunningEarthPastSpiritNightThreeForeverStreetsDutyHugeWallColdTerriblePureSixFlowRiversGoldMachinesGreedCrowdsAbsenceMaterialismScornTerrible ThingsHerdsDay And NightAvarice
Author:Federico Garcia Lorca
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