Federico Garcia Lorca Quote

Small unhurt sorrows approach the hospitalsand every day the dead take off a suit of blood.The architectures of frost,the lyres and moans that escape the tiny leavesin autumn, soaking the final slopes,died out in the blackness of felt hats.

Federico Garcia Lorca

Small unhurt sorrows approach the hospitalsand every day the dead take off a suit of blood.The architectures of frost,the lyres and moans that escape the tiny leavesin autumn, soaking the final slopes,died out in the blackness of felt hats.

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