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Idle youth, enslaved to everything by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.

Arthur Rimbaud

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Arthur Rimbaud
Age: 37 †
Born: 1854
Born: October 20
Died: 1891
Died: November 10
Arms Trader
Explorer
Poet
World Traveler
Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud
Jean Nicholas Arthur Rimbaud
Everything
Time
Life
Enslaved
Wasted
Idle
Sensitive
Youth

More quotes by Arthur Rimbaud

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O witches, O misery, O hate, to you has my treasure been entrusted! I contrived to purge my mind of all human hope. On all joy, to strangle it, I pounced with the strength of a wild beast. I called to the plagues to smother me in blood, in sand, misfortune was my God.
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No one's serious at seventeen.
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Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who was there to judge it? The critics!
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Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love!
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The northern lights rise like a kiss to the sea
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I'm intact, and I don't give a damn.
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Je est un autre. (I is someone else).
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A thousand Dreams within me softly burn
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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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. . . be absolute moderne.
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But the problem is to make the soul into a monster
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I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.
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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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What a life! True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.
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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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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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To whom shall I hire myself out? What beast should I adore? What holy image is attacked? What hearts shall I break? What lies shall I uphold? In what blood tread?
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Oh! If only we were naked now, and free to watch our protruding parts align To whisper - both of us - in ecstasy!
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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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In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.
Arthur Rimbaud