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!
The two elements the traveler first captures in the big city are extra human architecture and furious rhythm. Geometry and anguish.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote reflects on the overwhelming experience of a traveler in a big city, characterized by its imposing structures and intense pace of life.
Federico Garcia Lorca's quote encapsulates the essence of a traveler's initial perception of a bustling city. He highlights the stark contrast between the monumental architecture, representing human achievement and creativity, and the 'furious rhythm,' which conveys the frenetic energy and emotional turmoil often associated with urban life. This juxtaposition of 'geometry' and 'anguish' underscores the dual nature of city living, where beauty and stress coexist, leaving a lasting impact on those who roam its streets.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
This quote could be used in a travel blog discussing the overwhelming nature of urban experiences.
More from Federico Garcia Lorca
All quotes βThere 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.
The poem, the song, the picture, is only water drawn from the well of the people, and it should be given back to them in a cup of beauty so that they may drink - and in drinking understand themselves.
Death laid its eggs in the wound
New York is something awful, something monstrous. I like to walk the streets, lost, but I recognize that New York is the world's greatest lie. New York is Senegal with machines.
Woodcutter. Cut my shadow from me. Free me from the torment of being without fruit. Why was I born among mirrors? Day goes round and round me. The night copies me in all its stars. I want to live without my reflection. And then let me dream that ants and thistledown are my leaves and my parrots.
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