The poem, the song, the picture, is only water drawn from the well of the people, and it should be given back… — Federico Garcia Lorca Copy Share Image
The only things that the United States has given to the world are skyscrapers, jazz, and cocktails. That is all. And in… — Federico Garcia Lorca Copy Share Image
“...My voice is stained with bloody light, and I see irises dry up at its touch; in my song I wear the finery of… — Federico García Lorca Copy Share Image
A dead man in Spain is more alive than a dead man anywhere in the world. — Federico Garcia Lorca Copy Share Image
“Here I want to see those men of hard voice. Those that break horses and dominate rivers; those men of sonorous skeleton who sing… — Federico García Lorca Copy Share Image
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 Copy Share Image
“Madrigals" 1 Like concentric ripples over the water, so in my heart your words. Like a bird that strikes against the wind, so on… — Federico García Lorca Copy Share Image
At first glance, the rhythm may be confused with gaiety, but when you look more closely at the mechanism of social life and the… — Federico Garcia Lorca Copy Share Image
I'm hurt, hurt and humiliated beyond endurance, seeing the wheat ripening, the fountains never ceasing to give water, the sheep bearing hundreds oflambs, the… — Federico García Lorca Copy Share Image
To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves. — Federico Garcia Lorca Copy Share Image
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… — Federico Garcia Lorca Copy Share Image
The terrible, cold, cruel part is Wall Street. Rivers of gold flow there from all over the earth, and death comes with it. There,… — Federico Garcia Lorca Copy Share Image
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… — Federico Garcia Lorca Copy Share Image
