“…and I remember a sad breeze through the olive trees.” — Federico García Lorca Olive Copy Share Image
“Porque tú crees que el tiempo cura y que las paredes tapan, y no es verdad, no es verdad.” — Federico García Lorca Amor Copy Share Image
If blue is dream what then innocence? What awaits the heart if Love bears no arrows? — Federico Garcia Lorca Arrows Copy Share Image
Relish the fresh landscape of my wound, break rushes and delicate rivulets, drink blood poured on honeyed thigh. — Federico Garcia Lorca Blood Copy Share Image
Pero yo ya no soy yo Ni mi casa es ya mi casa. But now I am no longer I, nor is… — Federico Garcia Lorca House Copy Share Image
Fire is fed by fire. The same small flame destroys Two stalks of wheat at once. — Federico Garcia Lorca Feds Copy Share Image
“When the moon sails out with a hundred faces all the same, the coins made of silver break out in sobs in… — Federico García Lorca Copy Share Image
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 Fingernails Copy Share Image
My God, I have come with the seeds of questions. I planted them, and they never flowered. — Federico Garcia Lorca Seeds Copy Share Image
“I can’t listen to you. I can’t listen to your voice. It’s as though I’d drunk a bottle of anise and fallen… — Federico García Lorca Drowning Copy Share Image
The snow is falling on the deserted field of my life, and my hopes, which roam far, are afraid of becoming frozen… — Federico Garcia Lorca Becoming Copy Share Image
Seville is a tower full of fine archers… Under the arch of the sky, across the clear plain, she shoots the constant… — Federico Garcia Lorca Archer Copy Share Image
“The labyrinths that time creates vanish. (Only the desert remains.) The heart, fountain of desire, vanishes. (Only the desert remains.) The illusion… — Federico García Lorca Federico-garcia-lorca Copy Share Image
“THE POOL Horned owl Stops his meditations, cleans his glasses, sighs. A firefly spins downhill & a star slides by. Old owl… — Federico García Lorca Copy Share Image
The theater has to impose itself on the public, and not the public on the theater... The word "Art" should be written… — Federico Garcia Lorca Art Copy Share Image
“ANGUSTIAS.—Yo creo, madre, que él me oculta muchas cosas. BERNARDA.—No procures descubrirlas, no le preguntes y, desde luego, que no te vea… — Federico García Lorca Amor Copy Share Image
I will always be on the side of those who have nothing and who are not even allowed to enjoy the nothing… — Federico Garcia Lorca Enjoy Copy Share Image
“Gacela of the Flight” I have lost myself in the sea many tunes with my ear full of freshly cut flowers, with… — Federico García Lorca Death Copy Share Image
Ditty of First Desire In the green morning I wanted to be a heart. A heart. And in the ripe evening I… — Federico Garcia Lorca Color Copy Share Image
What shall I say about poetry? What shall I say about those clouds, or about the sky? Look; look at them; look… — Federico Garcia Lorca Clouds Copy Share Image
“In the green morning I wanted to be a heart. A heart. And in the ripe evening I wanted to be a… — Federico García Lorca Desire 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,… — Federico García Lorca Dark eyes Copy Share Image
I sing your restless longing for the statue, your fear of the feelings that await you in the street. I sing the… — Federico Garcia Lorca Art Copy Share Image
Never let me lose the marvel of your statue-like eyes, or the accent the solitary rose of your breath places on my… — Federico Garcia Lorca Accents Copy Share Image
“But two has never been a number-- because it's only an anguish and its shadow, it's only a guitar where love feels… — Federico García Lorca Dead man Copy Share Image
Death, vicious death, Leave a green branch for love. — Federico Garcia Lorca Branches Copy Share Image
At the heart of all great art is an essential melancholy. — Federico Garcia Lorca Art Copy Share Image
Little black horse. Where are you taking your dead rider? — Federico Garcia Lorca Black Copy Share Image
The bride, the white bride today a maiden, tomorrow a wife. — Federico Garcia Lorca Brides Copy Share Image
