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You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.
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
Tiny
Lips
Feel
Feels
Life
Fluttering
Scrap
Kiss
Kissing
More quotes by Arthur Rimbaud
You will always be a hyena.
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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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Weakness or strength: you exist, that is strength. You don't know where you are going or why you are going, go in everywhere, answer everyone. No one will kill you, any more than if you were a corpse.
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Morality is the weakness of the mind.
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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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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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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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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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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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But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.
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I shed more tears than God could ever have required.
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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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Misfortune was my god.
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I wrote silences nights I recorded the unnameable.
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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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No one's serious at seventeen.
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Life is the farce which everyone has to perform.
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Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.
Arthur Rimbaud
