Arthur Rimbaud Quotes
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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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No one's serious at seventeen.
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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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Je me crois en enfer, donc j'y suis.
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Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.
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My wisdom is as spurned as chaos. What is my nothingness, compared to the amazement that awaits you?
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I am alone in possessing a key to this barbarous sideshow.
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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.
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Morality is the weakness of the mind.
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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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What a life! True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.
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On the blue summer evenings, I will go along the paths, And walk over the short grass, as I am pricked by the wheat: Daydreaming I will feel the coolness on my feet. I will let the wind bathe my bare head. I will not speak, I will have no thoughts: But infinite love will mount in my soul; And I will go far, far off, like a gypsy, through the countryside - as happy as if I were a woman. Sensation.
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Now I am an outcast. I loathe my country. The best thing for me is a drunken sleep on the beach.
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Faith assuages, guides, restores.
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Eternity is the sun mixed with the sea.
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Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love!
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What am I doing here?
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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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O witches, O misery, O hate, to you has my treasure been entrusted! I contrived to purge my mind of all human hope. On all joy, to strangle it, I pounced with the strength of a wild beast. I called to the plagues to smother me in blood, in sand, misfortune was my God.
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It began as research. I wrote of silences, of nights, I scribbled the indescribable. I tied down the vertigo.
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And from that time on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, Devouring the green azures; where, entranced in pallid flotsam, A dreaming drowned man sometimes goes down.
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I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.
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Misfortune was my god.
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I found I could extinguish all human hope from my soul.