Arthur Rimbaud Quotes
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The wolf howled under the leaves And spit out the prettiest feathers Of his meal of fowl: Like him I consume myself.
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Eternity. It is the sea mingled with the sun.
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J'ai embrassé l'aube d'été.
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J'allais sous le ciel, Muse! et j'étais ton féal.
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The poet, therefore, is truly the thief of fire. He is responsible for humanity, for animals even; he will have to make sure his visions can be smelled, fondled, listened to; if what he brings back from beyond has form, he gives it form; if it has none, he gives it none. A language must be found…of the soul, for the soul and will include everything: perfumes, sounds colors, thought grappling with thought.
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Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? - Through whose blood am I to wade ?
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True alchemy lies in this formula: ‘Your memory and your senses are but the nourishment of your creative impulse’.
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Je est un autre.
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In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.
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Plus léger qu'un bouchon j'ai dansé sur les flots.
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...as for me, I am intact; and I don't care.
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The poet makes himself a voyant through a long, immense reasoned deranging of all his senses. All the forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he tries to find himself, he exhausts in himself all the poisons, to keep only their quintessences.
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Je me suis baigné dans le PoèmeDe la Mer...Dévorant les azurs verts.
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Come from forever, and you will go everywhere.
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He would say, "How funny it will all seem, all you've gone through, when I'm not here anymore, when you no longer feel my arms around your shoulders, nor my heart beneath you, nor this mouth on your eyes, because I will have to go away some day, far away..." And in that instant I could feel myself with him gone, dizzy with fear, sinking down into the most horrible blackness: into death.
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Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.
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Unhappiness was my god.
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J'ai vu des archipels sidéraux! et des îlesDont les cieux délirants sont ouverts au vogueur:Est-ce en ces nuits sans fond que tu dors et t'exiles,Million d'oiseaux d'or, ô future Vigueur ?
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J'ai vu le soleil bas, taché d'horreurs mystiques,Illuminant de longs figements violets,Pareils à des acteurs de drames très-antiques.
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Je parvins à faire s'évanouir dans mon esprit toute l'espérance humaine.
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Je suis esclave de mon baptême.
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Mon triste coeur bave à la poupe.
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Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.
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A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.