Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDThe northern lights rise like a kiss to the sea.
More Arthur Rimbaud Quotes
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You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who was there to judge it? The critics!
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
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.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
And again: No more gods! no more gods! Man is King, Man is God! – But the great Faith is Love!
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love!
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
I shed more tears than God could ever have required.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
It began as research. I wrote of silences, of nights, I scribbled the indescribable. I tied down the vertigo.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
My wisdom is as spurned as chaos. What is my nothingness, compared to the amazement that awaits you?
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am there.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
Morality is the weakness of the mind.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
I wrote silences; nights; I recorded the unnameable.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
True life is elsewhere.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
I may die of earthly love, or of devotion.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
Life is the farce which everyone has to perform.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
I am the slave of my baptism. Parents, you have caused my misfortune, and you have caused your own.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned, isn’t he?
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? – Through whose blood am I to wade ?
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
True alchemy lies in this formula: ‘Your memory and your senses are but the nourishment of your creative impulse’.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
What is my nothingness to the stupor that awaits you?
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
But the problem is to make the soul into a monster
ARTHUR RIMBAUD