Arthur Rimbaud Quotes
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Jadis, si je me souviens bien, ma vie était un festin où s'ouvraient tous les coeurs, où tous les vins coulaient.
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For a long time I found the celebrities of modern painting and poetry ridiculous. I loved absurd pictures, fanlights, stage scenery, mountebanks backcloths, inn-signs, cheap colored prints; unfashionable literature, church Latin, pornographic books badly spelt, grandmothers novels, fairy stories, little books for children, old operas, empty refrains, simple rhythms.
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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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...as for me, I am intact; and I don't care.
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I'm now making myself as scummy as I can. Why? I want to be a poet, and I'm working at turning myself into a seer. You won't understand any of this, and I'm almost incapable of explaining it to you. The idea is to reach the unknown by the derangement of all the senses. It involves enormous suffering, but one must be strong and be a born poet. It's really not my fault.
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I dreamed of Crusades, voyages of discovery that nobody had heard of, republics without histories, religious wars stamped out, revolutions in morals, movements of races and continents; I used to believe in every kind of magic. I began it as an investigation. I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.
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What an old maid I'm getting to be. lacking the courage to be in love with death!
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Mon triste coeur bave à la poupe.
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All day long he was docile, intelligent, good, Though sometimes changing to a darker mood. He seemed hypocritical, could tell better lies, in the dark he saw dots of colors behind closed eyes, clenched fists, put his tongue out at his elder brother.
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But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.
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Il pleut doucement sur la ville.
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Oh! If only we were naked now, and free to watch our protruding parts align; To whisper - both of us - in ecstasy!
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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.
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Je suis esclave de mon baptême.
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I may die of earthly love, or of devotion.
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I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; golden chains from star to star, and I dance.
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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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Here I am on the shore of Brittany. Let the cities light up in the evening. My day is done. I am leaving Europe. The sea air will burn my lungs. Lost climates will tan me. I will swim, trample the grass, hung, and smoke especially. I will drink alcohol as strong as boiling metal--just as my dear ancestors did around their fires.
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Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.
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Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.
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It was the voice of mad seas, roaring immense,/ That shattered your infant breast, too soft, too human.
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I wrote silences; nights; I recorded the unnameable.
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I saw that all beings are fated to happiness: action is not life, but a way of wasting some force, an enervation. Morality is the weakness of the brain.
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Weakness or strength: you exist, that is strength. You don't know where you are going or why you are going, go in everywhere, answer everyone. No one will kill you, any more than if you were a corpse.