Now I am an outcast. I loathe my country. The best thing for me is a drunken sleep on the beach.
ARTHUR RIMBAUDWhat is my nothingness to the stupor that awaits you?
More Arthur Rimbaud Quotes
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The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses.
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It was the voice of mad seas, roaring immense, That shattered your infant breast, too soft, too human.
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Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.
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I could never throw Love out of the window.
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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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Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.
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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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Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?
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Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.
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I am alone in possessing a key to this barbarous sideshow.
ARTHUR RIMBAUD -
The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.
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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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And from that time on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, Devouring the green azures; where, entranced in pallid flotsam, A dreaming drowned man sometimes goes down.
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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.
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Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love!
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Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.
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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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Faith assuages, guides, restores.
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Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.
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As for me, I am intact; and I don’t care.
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As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.
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What a life! True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.
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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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Morality is the weakness of the mind.
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Life is the farce which everyone has to perform.
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My wisdom is as spurned as chaos. What is my nothingness, compared to the amazement that awaits you?
ARTHUR RIMBAUD