Federico Garcia Lorca Quotes About Heart

Quotes about: Heart

• I'll always be happy if they'd leave me alone in that delightful and unknown furthest corner, apart from struggles, putrefactions and nonsense; the ultimate corner of sugar and toast, where the mermaids catch the branches of the willows and the heart opens to a flute's sharpness.

  Federico Garcia Lorca

  Struggle, Heart, Mermaid

• At the heart of all great art is an essential melancholy.

  Federico Garcia Lorca

  Art, Essentials, Melancholy

• Ditty of First Desire In the green morning I wanted to be a heart. A heart. And in the ripe evening I wanted to be a nightingale. A nightingale. (Soul, turn orange-colored. Soul, turn the color of love.) In the vivid morning I wanted to be myself. A heart. And at the evening's end I wanted to be my voice. A nightingale. Soul, turn orange-colored. Soul, turn the color of love.

  Federico Garcia Lorca

  Morning, Heart, Color

  Federico García Lorca, “Ditty Of First Desire”

• Today in my heart a vague trembling of stars and all roses are as white as my pain.

  Federico Garcia Lorca

  Stars, Pain, Heart

• Night of Sleepless Love The night above. We two. Full moon. I started to weep, you laughed. Your scorn was a god, my laments moments and doves in a chain. The night below. We two. Crystal of pain. You wept over great distances. My ache was a clutch of agonies over your sickly heart of sand. Dawn married us on the bed, our mouths to the frozen spout of unstaunched blood. The sun came through the shuttered balcony and the coral of life opened its branches over my shrouded heart.

  Federico Garcia Lorca

  Pain, Distance, Heart

• If blue is dream what then innocence? What awaits the heart if Love bears no arrows?

  Federico Garcia Lorca

  Dream, Heart, Blue

• The night below. We two. Crystal of pain. You wept over great distances. My ache was a clutch of agonies over your sickly heart of sand.

  Federico Garcia Lorca

  Pain, Distance, Heart

• The weeping of the guitar begins. The goblets of dawn are smashed. The weeping of the guitar begins. Useless to silence it. Impossible to silence it. It weeps monotonously as water weeps as the wind weeps over snowfields. Impossible to silence it. It weeps for distant things. Hot southern sands yearning for white camellias. Weeps arrow without target evening without morning and the first dead bird on the branch. Oh, guitar! Heart mortally wounded by five swords.

  Federico Garcia Lorca

  Morning, Heart, Guitar

  Federico García Lorca, “The Guitar”

• The dancer's trembling heart must bring everything into harmony, from the tips of her shoes to the flutter of her eyelashes, from the ruffles of her dress to the incessant play of her fingers.

  Federico Garcia Lorca

  Heart, Eyelashes, Play

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