A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned, isn’t he?
ARTHUR RIMBAUDI went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.
More Arthur Rimbaud Quotes
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Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
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.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
I am the slave of my baptism. Parents, you have caused my misfortune, and you have caused your own.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
I may die of earthly love, or of devotion.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
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 -
It began as research. I wrote of silences, of nights, I scribbled the indescribable. I tied down the vertigo.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
I understand, and not knowing how to express myself without pagan words, I’d rather remain silent.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
The only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
It is wrong to say: I think. One ought to say: I am thought. I is someone else.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love!
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
Faith assuages, guides, restores.
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Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
True life is elsewhere.
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Morality is the weakness of the mind.
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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 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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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 found I could extinguish all human hope from my soul.
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I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am there.
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Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? – Through whose blood am I to wade ?
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who was there to judge it? The critics!
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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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In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD