Morality is the weakness of the mind.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDIs it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?
More Arthur Rimbaud Quotes
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I am the slave of my baptism. Parents, you have caused my misfortune, and you have caused your own.
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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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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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As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.
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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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The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.
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Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.
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And I am still alive-what though, my damnation is eternal. A man who deliberately mutilates himself is truly damned, is he not? I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am.
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The northern lights rise like a kiss to 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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Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.
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I found I could extinguish all human hope from my soul.
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I shed more tears than God could ever have required.
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The only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable.
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As for me, I am intact; and I don’t care.
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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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You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.
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One evening I sat Beauty on my knees – And I found her bitter – And I reviled her.
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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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The wolf howled under the leaves And spit out the prettiest feathers Of his meal of fowl: Like him I consume myself.
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Eternity. It is the sea mingled with the sun.
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In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.
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A thousand Dreams within me softly burn.
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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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I could never throw Love out of the window.
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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.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD