quote by Paco de Lucia

Every July, August and part of September I escape of the guitar, I escape of Paco de Lucia and I go to Mexico to the Carrabian. I have a little house there where I spend two months listening to music, no playing because I don't bring the guitar with me, fishing and cooking my fish and charging the batteries for new concerts.

— Paco de Lucia

Most Powerful Lucia quotations

The greatest guitar player in the world today for me is Paco de Lucia, who is actually Spanish.

I find that I have done a pretty good job of fusing all three of them so far and I intend to get better at my craft. This is the reason why I am always eager to learn new stuff, especially from those who are more experienced than me. I am like a sponge. My ultimate goal is to open an animation studio in St. Lucia.

In my Lucia's absence Life hangs upon me, and becomes a burden;

I am ten times undone, while hope, and fear, And grief, and rage and love rise up at once, And with variety of pain distract me.

If music in general is an imitation of history, opera in particular is an imitation of human willfulness; it is rooted in the fact that we not only have feelings but insist upon having them at whatever cost to ourselves. The quality common to all the great operatic roles, e.g., Don Giovanni, Norma, Lucia, Tristan, Isolde, Br?nnhilde, is that each of them is a passionate and willful state of being. In real life they would all be bores, even Don Giovanni.

When I was developing St. Lucia - around 2008, 2009, at the peak of Pitchfork culture - what was considered cool was being as alienating to your audience as possible.

To read Lucia St. Clair Robson is to learn while being thoroughly entertained. Last Train from Cuernavaca puts us through the tragic violence and political treachery of the Mexican Revolution and its consequences so intimately that we feel hunger, lust, thirst, grief, and saddle sores, and admire anew the awesome durability and courage of the people of Mexico-- especially the women.

There was Layla in the fullness of her lips, Lulu in the thick waves of her hair, Lu Xin in the intensity of her hazel eyes, Lucia in their twinkle. She was not alone. Maybe she never would be alone again. There, in the mirror, was every incarnation of Lucinda staring back at her and wondering, "What is to become of us? What about our history, and our love?

I hope you're not smoking in front of her,' Lucia says to him.

'Yeah, I lie in bed and puff in her face, Lucia,' he says, irritated.

Give that man a Pixy Stix," Haddie said.

"A what?" Lucia asked. "Hold on." She left then returned a moment later with a handful of colorful straws, one of which she threw at Max like a dart. He caught it in midair. That impressed Haddie and she tossed him another, just to see if he could do it again. He fumbled that one.