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

More quotes by Arthur Rimbaud

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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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I am the slave of my baptism. Parents, you have caused my misfortune, and you have caused your own.
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The northern lights rise like a kiss to the sea
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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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Come from forever, and you will go everywhere.
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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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Je est un autre. (I is someone else).
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But the problem is to make the soul into a monster
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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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-But I've just noticed that my mind is asleep.
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What am I doing here?
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In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.
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A thousand Dreams within me softly burn
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You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.
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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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O seasons, O castles, What soul is without flaws? All its lore is known to me, Felicity, it enchants us all.
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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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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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And from that time on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, Devouring the green azures where, entranced in pallid flotsam, A dreaming drowned man sometimes goes down.
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