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But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.

Arthur Rimbaud

I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; golden chains from star to star, and I dance.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Dance Gold Myself Rope Star Window
What a life! True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Life True World
I understand, and not knowing how to express myself without pagan words, I’d rather remain silent.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Expression Myself Silence Understand Voice
Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Celebration Heart Life Myself Open Remember Wine
It is wrong to say: I think. One ought to say: I am thought. I is someone else.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Myself Thinking Wrong
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.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Dreams Man Myself Poem Sea Time
But the problem is to make the soul into a monster
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Monster Problem Soul Transformation
The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Himself Pain Poet
And I am still alive-what though, my damnation is eternal. A man who deliberately mutilates himself is truly damned, is he not? I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Alive Believe Forever Hell Man Myself True
I am the slave of my baptism. Parents, you have caused my misfortune, and you have caused your own.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Misfortune Parents Religion Slave Yourself
Life is the farce which everyone has to perform.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Life One Liner Performance
The wolf howled under the leaves And spit out the prettiest feathers Of his meal of fowl: Like him I consume myself.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Animal Consumption Himself Leaves Myself Wolf
I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Myself Sky Under
The 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 RIMBAUD

Himself Journey Poet Poison Travel
Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Divine Key Knowledge Love
It was the voice of mad seas, roaring immense, That shattered your infant breast, too soft, too human.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Body Break Human Mad Soft Voice

But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.

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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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Popular Authors

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