Arthur Rimbaud Quotes
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A thousand Dreams within me softly burn.
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...I is another. If the brass wakes the trumpet, it’s not its fault. That’s obvious to me: I witness the unfolding of my own thought: I watch it, I hear it: I make a stroke with the bow: the symphony begins in the depths, or springs with a bound onto the stage. If the old imbeciles hadn’t discovered only the false significance of Self, we wouldn’t have to now sweep away those millions of skeletons which have been piling up the products of their one-eyed intellect since time immemorial, and claiming themselves to be their authors!
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Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.
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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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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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O saisons, ô châteaux,Quelle âme est sans défauts ?
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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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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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A noir, E blanc, I rouge, U vert, O bleu: voyelles,Je dirai quelque jour vos naissances latentes !
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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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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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Il pleut doucement sur la ville.
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Yet this is the watch by night. Let us all accept new strength, and real tenderness. And at dawn, armed with glowing patience, we will enter the cities of glory.
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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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Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.
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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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O seasons, O castles, What soul is without flaws? All its lore is known to me, Felicity, it enchants us all.
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I may die of earthly love, or of devotion.
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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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But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.
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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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I wrote silences; nights; I recorded the unnameable.
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As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.
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The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses.