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Arthur Rimbaud Quote - But the problem is to make the soul into a monster

But the problem is to make the soul into a monster

Related Topics

Monster Problem Soul Transformation

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Marilyn Monroe Paulo Coelho Abraham Lincoln C. S. Lewis Khalil Gibran Charlie Chaplin Gautama Buddha Isaac Newton

Oh! If only we were naked now, and free to watch our protruding parts align; To whisper – both of us – in ecstasy!
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Freedom Happiness Naked See Sex
I wrote silences; nights; I recorded the unnameable.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Myself Name Night Poet Record Silence Writing
I could never throw Love out of the window.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

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

Bitter Cry Heart Broken Moon Myself Sun True
I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Myself Sky Under
I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am there.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Believe Hell Myself
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
In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Appearance Children Fashion Greatness
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 understand, and not knowing how to express myself without pagan words, I’d rather remain silent.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Expression Myself Silence Understand Voice
As for me, I am intact; and I don’t care.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Care Myself Philosophy
The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Himself Pain Poet
Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Life Myself Sensitive Wasted Time Youth
Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Endurance Force Life
True alchemy lies in this formula: ‘Your memory and your senses are but the nourishment of your creative impulse’.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Creativity Formula Impulse Memories Nourish True
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

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