Since the weather is nice, the young ladies of Granada go up to the whitewashed terraces to look at the mountains and not at the sea. The blondes go out into the sunshine and the brunettes stay in the shade. Those with chestnut hair are on the first floor looking at themselves in the mirror and putting on little celluloid combs.

In the afternoon they dress up in gauze and vaporous silks and go to the promenade where they diamond fountains flow and there are ancient tortures of roses and love’s melancholy lingers on. Later on they fill up on cakes and chocolate bon bons in a store which ought to be called Paris de Francia, but is called The Birdcage. The social life of Granada is rich in poetry and lyric decadence.

The Mediterranean flora shines here with all the delicacy of its marvelous grays. Agave and olive trees. Yet the young ladies of Granada don’t like the sea. They have big mother-of-pearl seashells with painted seascapes and that’s the way they see it; they have big conch shells in their living rooms and that’s the way they hear it.

-  Excerpt of a letter to Ana María Dalí, 1926 (transl. David Gershator)