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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
Wine
Remember
Wells
Well
Wines
Heart
Flowed
Life
Feast
Opened
Hearts

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Hay que ser absolutamente Moderno
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Morality is the weakness of the mind.
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Faith assuages, guides, restores.
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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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But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.
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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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Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.
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I wrote silences nights I recorded the unnameable.
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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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I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.
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You feel on your lips a kiss Fluttering, a tiny scrap of life.
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The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.
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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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I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am there.
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One evening I sat Beauty on my knees – And I found her bitter – And I reviled her.
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Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.
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Romanticism has never been properly judged. Who was there to judge it? The critics!
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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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I understand, and not knowing how to express myself without pagan words, I’d rather remain silent
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