True alchemy lies in this formula: ‘Your memory and your senses are but the nourishment of your creative impulse’.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDMy wisdom is as spurned as chaos. What is my nothingness, compared to the amazement that awaits you?
More Arthur Rimbaud Quotes
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Eternity is the sun mixed with the sea.
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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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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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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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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.
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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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As for me, I am intact; and I don’t care.
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I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am there.
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Life is the farce which everyone has to perform.
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I wrote silences; nights; I recorded the unnameable.
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A thousand Dreams within me softly burn.
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I understand, and not knowing how to express myself without pagan words, I’d rather remain silent.
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It is wrong to say: I think. One ought to say: I am thought. I is someone else.
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And again: No more gods! no more gods! Man is King, Man is God! – But the great Faith is Love!
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You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.
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The only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable.
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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 have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; golden chains from star to star, and I dance.
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I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.
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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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A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.
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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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Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? – Through whose blood am I to wade ?
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Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who was there to judge it? The critics!
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Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.
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Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love!
ARTHUR RIMBAUD