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As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.

Arthur Rimbaud

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
Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Childhood Discover Genius
Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Creativity Memories Nourish Yourself
I shed more tears than God could ever have required.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

God Myself Ocean Tears
Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Life Myself Sensitive Wasted Time Youth
As for me, I am intact; and I don’t care.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Care Myself Philosophy
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
Eternity is the sun mixed with the sea.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Forever Nature Sea Sun
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
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
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

Acceptance Glory Night Patience Reality Strength Tender
I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; golden chains from star to star, and I dance.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Dance Gold Myself Rope Star Window
Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Night Sleep Yourself
I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Myself Sky Under
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.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Blood Burn Dreams Heart Myself Soft Time Tree
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

As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.

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As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.

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