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Arthur Rimbaud Quote - Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?

Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?

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I found I could extinguish all human hope from my soul.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Erase Hope Human Myself Soul
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
As for me, I am intact; and I don’t care.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Care Myself Philosophy
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
I shed more tears than God could ever have required.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

God Myself Ocean Tears
I am alone in possessing a key to this barbarous sideshow.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Alone Himself Key Possession
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
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 northern lights rise like a kiss to the sea.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Kiss Light Rise Sea
Life is the farce which everyone has to perform.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Life One Liner Performance
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
But the problem is to make the soul into a monster
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Monster Problem Soul Transformation
A thousand Dreams within me softly burn.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Burn Dreams Inspirational Myself One Liner Soft
As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Guide Leadership Myself Ocean River
Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who was there to judge it? The critics!
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Criticism Judgement Proper
The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD

Himself Pain Poet

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