And always at such a time I feel the same vagabond and willful spirit sweeping my conscience and senses, an irresistible desire to throw everything to the devil and seek adventure through the fields, throughout the world. To unite me with the avalanche of spring and drift with it… Oh Lord! Without worries of the morrow or unpleasant memories of the past, except perhaps those that are necessary and a bit sad, in order to lend happiness that diaphanous touch of melancholy which makes it so refined, so perfect, so poetical and so humane.
Felipe Alfau, Locos
Nueva York de cieno,
Nueva York de alambre y de muerte.
¿Qué ángel llevas oculto en la mejilla?
Federico García Lorca, Oda a Walt Whitman