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But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.
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
Sun
Atrocious
Moon
Dawns
Truly
Wept
Much
Heartbreaking
Every
Bitterness
Dawn
Bitter
Sorrow
More quotes by Arthur Rimbaud
A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned, isn't he?
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I wrote silences nights I recorded the unnameable.
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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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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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I invented the colors of the vowels!--A black, E white, I red, O blue, U green--I made rules for the form and movement of each consonant, and, and with instinctive rhythms, I flattered myself that I had created a poetic language accessible, some day, to all the senses.
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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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The only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable.
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Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.
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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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It was the voice of mad seas, roaring immense,/ That shattered your infant breast, too soft, too human.
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Love...no such thing. Whatever it is that binds families and married couples together, that's not love. That's stupidity or selfishness or fear. Love doesn't exist. Self interest exists, attachment based on personal gain exists, complacency exists. But not love. Love has to be reinvented, that’s certain.
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Faith assuages, guides, restores.
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I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.
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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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Hay que ser absolutamente Moderno
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Idle youth, enslaved to everything by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.
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I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am there.
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You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.
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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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What am I doing here?
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