November 3, 2016

Federico García Lorca Quotes

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

“At five in the afternoon. Ah, that fatal five in the afternoon! It was five by all the clocks! It was five in the shade of the afternoon!”

“Besides black art, there is only automation and mechanization.”

“Green, how much I want you green. Green wind. Green branches. The ship upon the sea and the horse in the mountain.”

“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 money that went sliding off into the sea.”

“I’m hurt, hurt and humiliated beyond endurance, seeing the wheat ripening, the fountains never ceasing to give water, the sheep bearing hundreds of lambs, the she-dogs, until it seems the whole country rises to show me its tender sleeping young while I feel two hammer-blows here instead of the mouth of my child.”

“In Spain, the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country in the world.”

“New York is something awful, something monstrous. I like to walk the streets, lost, but I recognize that New York is the world’s greatest lie. New York is Senegal with machines.”

“Not for a moment, beautiful aged Walt Whitman, have I failed to see your beard full of butterflies.”

“The only things that the United States has given to the world are skyscrapers, jazz, and cocktails. That is all. And in Cuba, in our America, they make much better cocktails.”

“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…”

“The two elements the traveler first captures in the big city are extrahuman architecture and furious rhythm. Geometry and anguish.”

“There is nothing more poetic and terrible than the skyscrapers’ battle with the heavens that cover them.”

“To see you naked is to recall the Earth.”

“What shall I say about poetry? What shall I say about those clouds, or about the sky? Look; look at them; look at it! And nothing more. Don’t you understand anything about poetry? Leave that to the critics and the professors. For neither you, nor I, nor any poet knows what poetry is.”

“With their souls of patent leather, they come down the road. Hunched and nocturnal, where they breathe they impose, silence of dark rubber, and fear of fine sand.”