Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDLife is the farce which everyone has to perform.
More Arthur Rimbaud Quotes
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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.
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As for me, I am intact; and I don’t care.
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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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True life is elsewhere.
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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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Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.
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As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.
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Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.
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I could never throw Love out of the window.
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In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.
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O seasons, O castles, What soul is without flaws? All its lore is known to me, Felicity, it enchants us all.
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I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.
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Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love!
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Come from forever, and you will go everywhere.
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But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.
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You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.
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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.
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Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who was there to judge it? The critics!
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True alchemy lies in this formula: ‘Your memory and your senses are but the nourishment of your creative impulse’.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
Life is the farce which everyone has to perform.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?
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A thousand Dreams within me softly burn.
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Now I am an outcast. I loathe my country. The best thing for me is a drunken sleep on the beach.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
I am alone in possessing a key to this barbarous sideshow.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD