Arthur Rimbaud Quotes
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Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?
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J'ai embrassé l'aube d'été.
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Un soir, j'ai assis la Beauté sur mes genoux. - Et je l'ai trouvée amère. - Et je l'ai injuriée.
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Je est un autre.
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Je me suis baigné dans le PoèmeDe la Mer...Dévorant les azurs verts.
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Plus léger qu'un bouchon j'ai dansé sur les flots.
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Mon triste coeur bave à la poupe.
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-But I've just noticed that my mind is asleep.
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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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It is wrong to say: I think. One ought to say: I am thought. I is someone else.
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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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The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses.
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Je parvins à faire s'évanouir dans mon esprit toute l'espérance humaine.
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A noir, E blanc, I rouge, U vert, O bleu: voyelles,Je dirai quelque jour vos naissances latentes !
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In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.
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Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.
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Il pleut doucement sur la ville.
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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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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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Misfortune was my god.
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And from then on, I bathed in the Poem of the Sea, star-infused, and opalescent, devouring green azures.
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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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Unhappiness was my god.
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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.