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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.

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
Men
Truly
Eternal
Hell
Alive
Damnation
Though
Deliberately
Stills
Damned
Still
Injury
Believe
Therefore

More quotes by Arthur Rimbaud

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A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned, isn't he?
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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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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 a life! True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.
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Morality is the weakness of the mind.
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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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Eternity is the sun mixed with the sea
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Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.
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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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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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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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I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.
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No one's serious at seventeen.
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I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am there.
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The northern lights rise like a kiss to the sea
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Faith assuages, guides, restores.
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In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.
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. . . be absolute moderne.
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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