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Arthur Rimbaud quotes
I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; garlands from window to window; golden chains from star to star, and I dance.
Arthur Rimbaud
But, true, I've wept too much! Dawns break hearts./ Every moon is brutal, every sun bitter.
Arthur Rimbaud
Morality is the weakness of the brain.
Arthur Rimbaud
Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.
Arthur Rimbaud
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
I went out under the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal.
Arthur Rimbaud
Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.
Arthur Rimbaud
I found I could extinguish all human hope from my soul.
Arthur Rimbaud
One evening, I sat Beauty in my lap. - And I found her bitter. - And I cursed her.
Arthur Rimbaud
Once, I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.
Arthur Rimbaud
Love is to be reinvented, that is clear.
Arthur Rimbaud
One must be absolutely modern.
Arthur Rimbaud
I is an other.
Arthur Rimbaud
Eternity. It is the sea mingled with the sun.
Arthur Rimbaud
But I've just noticed that my mind is asleep.
Arthur Rimbaud
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.
Arthur Rimbaud
I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.
Arthur Rimbaud
A thousand Dreams within me softly burn.
Arthur Rimbaud
True alchemy lies in this formula: ‘Your memory and your senses are but the nourishment of your creative impulse'.
Arthur Rimbaud
Life is the farce which everyone has to perform.
Arthur Rimbaud
Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.
Arthur Rimbaud
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
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