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Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.
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
Life
Feast
Opened
Hearts
Wine
Remember
Wells
Well
Wines
Heart
Flowed
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But the problem is to make the soul into a monster
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Come from forever, and you will go everywhere.
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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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I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.
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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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Je est un autre. (I is someone else).
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Eternity is the sun mixed with the sea
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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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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.
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I shed more tears than God could ever have required.
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Morality is the weakness of the mind.
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Idle youth, enslaved to everything by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.
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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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What am I doing here?
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Faith assuages, guides, restores.
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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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In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.
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What a life! True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.
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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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Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who was there to judge it? The critics!
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