Arthur Rimbaud Quotes
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I may die of earthly love, or of devotion.
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No one's serious at seventeen.
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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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What a life! True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.
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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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What an old maid I'm getting to be. lacking the courage to be in love with death!
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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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I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.
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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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Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love!
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Eternity is the sun mixed with the sea.
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I am alone in possessing a key to this barbarous sideshow.
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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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My wisdom is as spurned as chaos. What is my nothingness, compared to the amazement that awaits you?
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The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.
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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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Faith assuages, guides, restores.
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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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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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...these poets here, you see, they are not of this world:let them live their strange life; let them be cold and hungry, let them run, love and sing: they are as rich as Jacques Coeur, all these silly children, for they have their souls full of rhymes, rhymes which laugh and cry, which make us laugh or cry: Let them live: God blesses all the merciful: and the world blesses the poets.
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You will always be a hyena.
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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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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.