Sometimes hope (ever more distant) spreads her long branches in the wind, — Roberto Sosa, from “Tegucigalpa,” Return of the River (Curbstone Books, 2001)
This web of time–the strands of which approach one another, bifurcate, intersect or ignore each other through the centuries–embraces every possibility. We do not exist in most of them. In some you exist and not I, while in others I do, and you do not, and yet in others both of us exist. In this… Continue reading Jorge Luis Borges
The Little Mute Boy The little boy was looking for his voice. (The king of the crickets had it.) In a drop of water the little boy was looking for his voice. I do not want it for speaking with; I will make a ring of it so that he may wear my silence on… Continue reading Federico García Lorca
There is no true love save in suffering, and in this world we have to choose either love, which is suffering, or happiness. And love leads us to no other happiness than that of live itself and its tragic consolation of uncertain hope. The moment love becomes happy and satisfied, it no longer desires and… Continue reading Miguel de Unamuno
Arbole, Arbole . . . Tree, tree dry and green. The girl with the pretty face is out picking olives. The wind, playboy of towers, grabs her around the waist. Four riders passed by on Andalusian ponies, with blue and green jackets and big, dark capes. “Come to Cordoba, muchacha.” The girl won’t listen to… Continue reading Federico García Lorca
The afternoon, grown wild with figs and hot murmurs, swoons and falls… And black angels were soaring through the western sky. Angels with long tresses and hearts of olive oil. — Federico García Lorca, “The Feud,” Romancero Gitano. (Agebe, March 2006) Originally published 1928.
Through women you will see the entire universe. — Miguel de Unamuno, Our Lord Don Quixote: The Life of Don Quixote and Sancho, translation, (Princeton University Press; First Paperback Edition edition, July 21, 1976) Originally published 1905.