25 ordspråk av Federico Garcia Lorca

Federico Garcia Lorca

Federico Garcia Lorca föddes den 5 juni 1898 och dog den 20 august 1936 - who, in a career that spanned just 19 years, resurrected and revitalized the most basic strains of Spanish poetry and theatre.
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Mænd som holder sig magre bliver hårde som stål.

Män som håller sig smala blir hårda som stål.

Mænd

Menn som holder seg magre, blir harde som stål.

Män som håller sig smala, blir hårda som stål.

Utseende

Selv om du kjenner veien, vil jeg aldri nå til Córdoba.

Även om jag kan vägen kommer jag nog aldrig fram till Cordoba.

Vei

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

There is nothing more poetic and terrible than the skyscrapers' battle with the heavens that cover them. Snow, rain, and mist highlight, drench, or conceal the vast towers, but those towers, hostile to mystery and blind to any sort of play, shear off the rain's tresses and shine their three thousand swords through the soft swan of the fog.

Green how I want you green. Green wind. Green branches.

To see you naked is to recall the Earth.

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 two elements the traveler first captures in the big city are extra human architecture and furious rhythm. Geometry and anguish. At first glance, the rhythm may be confused with gaiety, but when you look more closely at the mechanism of social life and the painful slavery of both men and machines, you see that it is nothing but a kind of typical, empty anguish that makes even crime and gangs forgivable means of escape.

At five in the afternoon. It was exactly five in the afternoon. A boy brought the white sheet at five in the afternoon.

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. Never as then, amid suicides, hysteria, and groups of fainting people, have I felt the sensation of real death, death without hope, death that is nothing but rottenness, for the spectacle was terrifying but devoid of greatness... I felt something like a divine urge to bombard that whole canyon of shadow, where ambulances collected suicides whose hands were full of rings.

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.

New York is a meeting place for every race in the world, but the Chinese, Armenians, Russians, and Germans remain foreigners. So does everyone except the blacks. There is no doubt but that the blacks exercise great influence in North America, and, no matter what anyone says, they are the most delicate, spiritual element in that world.

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

Besides black art, there is only automation and mechanization.

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