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One evening I sat Beauty on my knees – And I found her bitter – And I reviled her.

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
Funny
Reviled
Found
Bitterness
Sat
Knees
Evening
Bitter
Humor
Beauty

More quotes by Arthur Rimbaud

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-But I've just noticed that my mind is asleep.
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Come from forever, and you will go everywhere.
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I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am there.
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I shed more tears than God could ever have required.
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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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What a life! True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.
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Here I am on the shore of Brittany. Let the cities light up in the evening. My day is done. I am leaving Europe. The sea air will burn my lungs. Lost climates will tan me. I will swim, trample the grass, hung, and smoke especially. I will drink alcohol as strong as boiling metal--just as my dear ancestors did around their fires.
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Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.
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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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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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It was the voice of mad seas, roaring immense,/ That shattered your infant breast, too soft, too human.
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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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No one's serious at seventeen.
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Morality is the weakness of the mind.
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Idle youth, enslaved to everything by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.
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You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.
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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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The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.
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Eternity is the sun mixed with the sea
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It is wrong to say: I think. One ought to say: I am thought. I is someone else.
Arthur Rimbaud