These two paragraphs are more well-spoken and discriptive than anything I can put forth for the time being:
"Am I to blame for being a Romantic and a dreamer in a life that is all materialism and stupidity? Am I to blame for having a heart, and for having been born among people interested only in comfort and in money? What sigma has passion placed on my brow? I would like to pass by sighing, and not have anyone even notice me. For when others look at me with their superior smiles, their glances sully me. For my heart and my spirit are very high, and my eyes flee from theirs to contemplate the water, the clouds, or to look into my own heart. ["Meditacion apasionada y sentimental" (F.G. Lorca)]
"Fields full of melancholy and of hushed music ... And old mansions with their coats of arms and their cloisters, and convents with their souls doing penance for carnal love, and fallen women with their nuances of Chopin, and children who peer at the infinite with their chaste eyes, and old musical instruments waiting for the hand that can make them speak, and the ruins of past civilizations, caressed lovingly by ivy and moss, and the moon with its painful clarity, and the day and the night and the skies and a page of the Bible... as long as all this exists, there will be dreamers in pain, and there will by languidness and there will be sighs, and civilization will pass by without staining our hearts." ["Mistica en que se habla de la inspiracion y de la tristeza de la ausencia" PrI 111-12 (Lorca, June 1917)]
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