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To whom shall I hire myself out? What beast should I adore? What holy image is attacked? What hearts shall I break? What lies shall I uphold? In what blood tread?

Arthur Rimbaud

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.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Body Death Existence Kill Strength Weakness Yourself
Now I am an outcast. I loathe my country. The best thing for me is a drunken sleep on the beach.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Best Country Drink Hate Myself Sleep
O seasons, O castles, What soul is without flaws? All its lore is known to me, Felicity, it enchants us all.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Enchantment Flaw Myself Season Soul
The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Himself Pain Poet
I may die of earthly love, or of devotion.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Death Devotion Earth Love Myself
Eternity is the sun mixed with the sea.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Forever Nature Sea Sun
I shed more tears than God could ever have required.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

God Myself Ocean Tears
What is my nothingness to the stupor that awaits you?
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Unknown Wait Yourself
It began as research. I wrote of silences, of nights, I scribbled the indescribable. I tied down the vertigo.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Beginning Myself Night Research Silence
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
As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Guide Leadership Myself Ocean River
A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned, isn’t he?
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Himself Imitation Mad Man Weird
What an old maid I’m getting to be. Lacking the courage to be in love with death!
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Courage Death Love Myself Old
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
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
It is wrong to say: I think. One ought to say: I am thought. I is someone else.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Myself Thinking Wrong

To whom shall I hire myself out? What beast should I adore? What holy image is attacked? What hearts shall I break? What lies shall I uphold? In what blood tread?

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To whom shall I hire myself out? What beast should I adore? What holy image is attacked? What hearts shall I break? What lies shall I uphold? In what blood tread?

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Popular Authors

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