The wounds were burning like suns at five in the afternoon, and the crowd broke the windows 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!
Federico Garcia LorcaToday in my heart a vague trembling of stars and all roses are as white as my pain.
Federico Garcia LorcaNot for a moment, beautiful aged Walt Whitman, have I failed to see your beard full of butterflies.
Federico Garcia LorcaThe duende....Where is the duende? Through the empty archway a wind of the spirit enters, blowing insistently over the heads of the dead, in search of new landscapes and unknown accents: a wind with the odour of a child's saliva, crushed grass, and medusa's veil, announcing the endless baptism of freshly created things.
Federico Garcia Lorca