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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.

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
Thousand
Branch
Blood
Torn
Within
Burn
Running
Runs
Dream
Branches
Heart
Golden
Time
Whose
Oaks
Like
Dreams
Softly

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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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It is wrong to say: I think. One ought to say: I am thought. I is someone else.
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Faith assuages, guides, restores.
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But the problem is to make the soul into a monster
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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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The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.
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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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The only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable.
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I wrote silences nights I recorded the unnameable.
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A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned, isn't he?
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You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.
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Je est un autre. (I is someone else).
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