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 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 a white-faced clown. Love, sweet Love, hides under a spider. The sun, another spider, hides me under legs of gold. I will not find my fortune, for I am like Love himself, whose arrows are tears,… — Federico García Lorca Copy Share
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 my lips your kisses. Like exposed fountains opposing the evening, so my dark eyes over your flesh. 2 I am caught in your circles, concentric. Like Saturn I wear the rings of my dream. I am… — Federico García Lorca Copy Share
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
