Federico-Garcia-Lorca Quotes

Enjoy the top 48 famous quotes, sayings and quotations by Federico-Garcia-Lorca.

Federico-Garcia-Lorca Quotes

After Passing By
The children watch
a distant point.
Lamps go out.
Some blind girls
question the moon
and spirals of grief
rise in the air.
The mountains survey
a distant point.
— Federico-Garcia-Lorca —

To see you naked is to recall the Earth.

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

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.

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

I am the immense shadow of my tears

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

As I have not worried to be born, I do not worry to die.

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

We're all curious about what might hurt us.

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

Stigmata of Love
A light which lives on what the flames devour,
a grey landscape surrounding me with scorch,
a crucifixion by a single wound,
a sky and earth that darken by each hour,
a sob of blood whose red ribbon adorns
a lyre without a pulse, and oils the torch,
a tide which stuns and strands me on the reef,
a scorpion scrambling, stinging in my chest
this is the wreath of love, this bed of thorns
is where I dream of you stealing my rest,
haunting these sunken ribs cargoed with grief.
I sought the peak of prudence, but I found
the hemlock-brimming valley of your heart,
and my own thirst for bitter truth and art.

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

My head is full of fire
and grief and my tongue
runs wild, pierced
with shards of glass.

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

Don't ask me any questions. I've seen how things that seek their way find their void instead.

— 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

Everyone understands the pain that accompanies death,
but genuine pain doesn't live in the spirit,
nor in the air, nor in our lives,
nor on these terraces of billowing smoke.
The genuine pain that keeps everything awake
is a tiny, infinite burn
on the innocent eyes of other systems.

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

Life is not a dream. Careful! Careful! Careful!
We fall down the stairs in order to eat the moist earth
or we climb to the knife edge of the snow with the voices of
the dead dahlias.
But forgetfulness does not exist, dreams do not exist;
flesh exists. Kisses tie our mouths
in a thicket of new veins,
and whoever his pain pains will feel that pain forever
and whoever is afraid of death will carry it on his shoulders.

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

To see you naked is to remember the Earth,
the smooth Earth, clean of horses,
the Earth without reeds, pure form,
closed to the future, confine of silver.
To see you naked is to understand the desire
of rain that looks for the delicate waist,
or the fever of the broad-faced sea
that cannot find the light of its cheek.
Blood will ring through the bedrooms
and will come with flaming swords,
but you will not know the hiding places
of the violet or the heart of the toad.
Your womb is a struggle of roots.
Your lips are a dawn without contour.
Under the lukewarm roses of the bed
the dead men moan, awaiting their return.

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

A poet must be a professor of the five senses and must open doors among them.

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

Set in place the lovers who will afterwards be photographs.

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

After Passing By
The children watch
a distant point.
Lamps go out.
Some blind girls
question the moon
and spirals of grief
rise in the air.
The mountains survey
a distant point.

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

Out in the sky, no one sleeps. No one, no one.
No one sleeps.
In a graveyard far off there is a corpse
who has moaned for three years
because of an arid landscape in his knee;
and that boy they buried this morning cried so much
it was necessary to call out the dogs to keep him quiet.
Life is not a dream. Careful! Careful! Careful!
We fall down the stairs in order to eat the moist earth
or we climb to the snow's edge with the voices of dead dahlias.
But there is no oblivion; no dream:
only flesh exists. Kisses tie our mouths
in a tangle of new veins,
and those who hurt will hurt without rest
and those who are afraid of death will carry it on their shoulders.

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

The duende ... Where is the duende? Through the empty archway a wind of the spirit enters, blowing insistently over the heads of the dead, in search of new landscapes and unknown accents: a wind with the odour of a child's saliva, crushed grass, and medusa's veil, announcing the endless baptism of freshly created things.

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

A confused labyrinth
of smoky stars
entangles my hopes,
which are nearly faded

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

In the borough, three boys circled a white camel
that wept because at dawn
there was no other way except through the needle's eye!
Oh cross! Oh, nails! Oh, thorn!
Oh, thorn driven to the bone until the planet rust to pieces!

— Federico-Garcia-Lorca

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