Quotes by Federico García Lorca

But hurry, lets entwine ourselves as one, our mouth broken, our soul bitten by love, so time discovers us safely destroyed.

I know there is no straight road No straight road in this world Only a giant labyrinth Of intersecting crossroads

My head is full of fireand grief and my tongueruns wild, piercedwith shards of glass.

Verde que te quiero verde. Verde viento. Verdes ramas. El barco sobre la mar y el caballo en la montaña.

At five in the afternoon. It was exactly five in the afternoon. A boy brought the white sheet at five in the afternoon. A frail of lime ready prepared at five in the afternoon. The rest was death, and death alone

…And my heart openedlike a flower under sky,its petals of desire,its stamens of dreams…

The artist, and particularly the poet, is always an anarchist in the best sense of the word. He must heed only the call that arises within him from three strong voices: the voice of death, with all its foreboding, the voice of love and the voice of art.

Look at the longing, the anguish of a sad fossil world / that cannot find the accent of its first sob.

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 adornsa 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 thornsis where I dream of you stealing my rest,haunting these sunken ribs cargoed with grief.I sought the peak of prudence, but I foundthe hemlock-brimming valley of your heart,and my own thirst for bitter truth an

Everyone understands the pain that accompanies death,but genuine pain doesnt 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 awakeis a tiny, infinite burnon the innocent eyes of other systems.

To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.

The little boy was looking for his voice.(The king of the crickets had it.)In a drop of waterthe little boy was looking for his voice.I do not want it for speaking with;I will make a ring of itso that he may wear my silenceon his little fingerIn a drop of waterthe little boy was looking for his voice.(The captive voice, far away,put on a crickets clo

El remanso de airebajo la rama del eco.El remanso del aguabajo fronda de luceros.El remanso de tu bocabajo espesura de besos.*The still waters of the airunder the bough of the echo.The still waters of the waterunder a frond of stars.The still waters of your mouthunder a thicket of k

Dont ask me any questions. Ive seen how things that seek their way find their void instead.

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

Yo me salgo desnudo a la calle,maduro de versos perdidos.I step naked into the streetripe with lost poems.