Federico Garcia Lorca Quotes
Quotes tagged as "federico-garcia-lorca"
Showing 1-12 of 12
![Federico García Lorca](https://cdn.statically.io/img/i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1651452804i/44150._UX200_CR0,42,200,200_.jpg)
“But hurry, let's entwine ourselves as one, our mouth broken, our soul bitten by love, so time discovers us safely destroyed.”
―
―
![Federico García Lorca](https://cdn.statically.io/img/i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1651452804i/44150._UX200_CR0,42,200,200_.jpg)
“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 asleep wrapped in a quilt of roses. It pulls me along – and I know I’m drowning – but I go on down.”
― Bodas de sangre
― Bodas de sangre
![Luis Buñuel](https://cdn.statically.io/img/i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1426087224i/49756._UX200_CR0,10,200,200_.jpg)
“De todas as pessoas que conheci, Federico vem em primeiro lugar. Não falo nem de seu teatro nem de sua poesia, falo dele. A obra-prima era ele. Parece inclusive difícil imaginar alguém comparável. Quer ao piano imitando Chopin, quer improvisando uma pantomima, um esquete teatral, era irresistível. Podia ler qualquer coisa, a beleza sempre jorrava de seus lábios. Ele tinha a paixão, a alegria, a juventude. Era uma labareda.
Quando o conheci, na Residência dos Estudantes, eu era um atleta provinciano bem tacanho. Pela força da nossa amizade, ele me transformou, me fez conhecer outro mundo. Devo a ele mais do que consigo dizer.
Seus restos mortais nunca foram encontrados. Lendas circularam sobre sua morte, e Dalí – de um jeito bem ignóbil – chegou a falar em crime homossexual, o que é totalmente absurdo. Na realidade, Federico morreu porque era poeta. Nessa época, do outro lado, ouvia-se gritar: “Morte à inteligência!”
― Mi último suspiro
Quando o conheci, na Residência dos Estudantes, eu era um atleta provinciano bem tacanho. Pela força da nossa amizade, ele me transformou, me fez conhecer outro mundo. Devo a ele mais do que consigo dizer.
Seus restos mortais nunca foram encontrados. Lendas circularam sobre sua morte, e Dalí – de um jeito bem ignóbil – chegou a falar em crime homossexual, o que é totalmente absurdo. Na realidade, Federico morreu porque era poeta. Nessa época, do outro lado, ouvia-se gritar: “Morte à inteligência!”
― Mi último suspiro
![Dejan Stojanovic](https://cdn.statically.io/img/i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1343115315i/6443586._UX200_CR0,44,200,200_.jpg)
“Quixote shines from Lorca and Picasso,
From Dalí and El Greco,
From the gloomy 'View of Toledo.'
He was born before Cervantes.”
―
From Dalí and El Greco,
From the gloomy 'View of Toledo.'
He was born before Cervantes.”
―
![Sofía Navarro](https://cdn.statically.io/img/i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1594199732i/4788866._UX200_CR0,50,200,200_.jpg)
“Una pausa en mi escritura para ver que vuelve a ser madrugada, que sigues en el firmamento. Que no mueres, auque te maten. Federico...”
―
―
![Federico García Lorca](https://cdn.statically.io/img/i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1651452804i/44150._UX200_CR0,42,200,200_.jpg)
“There are dewdrops
on the nightingale's wings,
bright beads of moon
distilled by hope.
On the marble fountain
is the kiss of water,
dream of humble stars...”
―
on the nightingale's wings,
bright beads of moon
distilled by hope.
On the marble fountain
is the kiss of water,
dream of humble stars...”
―
![Federico García Lorca](https://cdn.statically.io/img/i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1651452804i/44150._UX200_CR0,42,200,200_.jpg)
“...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,
and whose quiver is the heart...”
―
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,
and whose quiver is the heart...”
―
![Federico García Lorca](https://cdn.statically.io/img/i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1651452804i/44150._UX200_CR0,42,200,200_.jpg)
“Ovo je prolog…
Knjiga je pjesama
kao umrla jesen:
Stihovi su lišće crno
na zemlji bijeloj.
…
A pjesnik razumije
sve što je nerazumljivo
i stvari što se mrze
on drugama zove.
Njemu je znano da su
sve staze nemoguće
i zbog toga noću
po njima tiho hoda.
…
Poezija je gorčina,
nebeski med što teče
iz nevidljiva saća
što ga stvaraju duše.
Ljupke knjige stihova
zvijezde su što prolaze
kroz nijemu tišinu
u kraljevstvo Ničega,
ispisujući po nebu
svoje strofe od srebra.”
―
Knjiga je pjesama
kao umrla jesen:
Stihovi su lišće crno
na zemlji bijeloj.
…
A pjesnik razumije
sve što je nerazumljivo
i stvari što se mrze
on drugama zove.
Njemu je znano da su
sve staze nemoguće
i zbog toga noću
po njima tiho hoda.
…
Poezija je gorčina,
nebeski med što teče
iz nevidljiva saća
što ga stvaraju duše.
Ljupke knjige stihova
zvijezde su što prolaze
kroz nijemu tišinu
u kraljevstvo Ničega,
ispisujući po nebu
svoje strofe od srebra.”
―
![Federico García Lorca](https://cdn.statically.io/img/i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1651452804i/44150._UX200_CR0,42,200,200_.jpg)
“¡Cigarra!
¡Dichosa tú!,
que sobre el lecho de tierra
mueres borracha de luz.
Tú sabes de las campiñas
el secreto de la vida,
y el cuento del hada vieja
que nacer hierba sentía
en ti quedóse guardado.
¡Cigarra!
¡Dichosa tú!,
pues mueres bajo la sangre
de un corazón todo azul.
La luz es Dios que desciende,
y el sol
brecha por donde se filtra.
[...]”
―
¡Dichosa tú!,
que sobre el lecho de tierra
mueres borracha de luz.
Tú sabes de las campiñas
el secreto de la vida,
y el cuento del hada vieja
que nacer hierba sentía
en ti quedóse guardado.
¡Cigarra!
¡Dichosa tú!,
pues mueres bajo la sangre
de un corazón todo azul.
La luz es Dios que desciende,
y el sol
brecha por donde se filtra.
[...]”
―
![Ruth Boukhari](https://cdn.statically.io/img/i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/authors/1694875189i/21364750._UX200_CR0,1,200,200_.jpg)
“Look at the stars,
look at the moon streaked in the water,
look at the Picasso face in the sky
that breathes the words of Lorca on the cheeks
of the crossed ones who long to touch,
too confused to wander.”
― Forlorn
look at the moon streaked in the water,
look at the Picasso face in the sky
that breathes the words of Lorca on the cheeks
of the crossed ones who long to touch,
too confused to wander.”
― Forlorn
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