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The only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable.

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
Unbearable
Nothing
Thing

More quotes by Arthur Rimbaud

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Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.
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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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In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.
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I understand, and not knowing how to express myself without pagan words, I’d rather remain silent
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You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.
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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.
Arthur Rimbaud
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But the problem is to make the soul into a monster
Arthur Rimbaud
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What a life! True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.
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Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who was there to judge it? The critics!
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Eternity is the sun mixed with the sea
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Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.
Arthur Rimbaud
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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.
Arthur Rimbaud
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-But I've just noticed that my mind is asleep.
Arthur Rimbaud
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You will always be a hyena.
Arthur Rimbaud
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Je est un autre. (I is someone else).
Arthur Rimbaud
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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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To whom shall I hire myself out? What beast should I adore? What holy image is attacked? What hearts shall I break? What lies shall I uphold? In what blood tread?
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The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses
Arthur Rimbaud
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I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am there.
Arthur Rimbaud
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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