It is wrong to say: I think. One ought to say: I am thought. I is someone else.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDIt is wrong to say: I think. One ought to say: I am thought. I is someone else.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDA thousand Dreams within me softly burn.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDThe 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.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDLife is the farce we are all forced to endure.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDOnce, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDEternity is the sun mixed with the sea.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDThe Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDI believe that I am in hell, therefore I am there.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDGenius is the recovery of childhood at will.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDThe Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDRomanticism has never been properly judged. Who was there to judge it? The critics!
ARTHUR RIMBAUDBut, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDOnly divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDYour memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDMy wisdom is as spurned as chaos. What is my nothingness, compared to the amazement that awaits you?
ARTHUR RIMBAUDThe only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD