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Arthur Rimbaud

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“The poet, therefore, is truly the thief of fire. He is responsible for humanity, for animals even; he will have to make sure his visions can be smelled, fondled, listened to; if what he brings back from beyond has form, he gives it form; if it has none, he gives it none. A language must be found…of the soul, for the soul and will include everything: perfumes, sounds colors, thought grappling with thought”

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Author:Arthur Rimbaud
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“...I is another. If the brass wakes the trumpet, it’s not its fault. That’s obvious to me: I witness the unfolding of my own thought: I watch it, I hear it: I make a stroke with the bow: the symphony begins in the depths, or springs with a bound onto the stage. If the old imbeciles hadn’t discovered only the false significance of Self, we wouldn’t have to now sweep away those millions of skeletons which have been piling up the products of their one-eyed intellect since time immemorial, and claiming themselves to be their authors!”

IfsHas BeensSelfMy OwnWatchesMillionsStageProductsSpringFaultsDepthBoundsObviousIntellectWitnessSignificanceBowsStrokesSymphonyUnfoldingTrumpetsSkeletonsBrassImbeciles
Author:Arthur Rimbaud
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“He would say, "How funny it will all seem, all you've gone through, when I'm not here anymore, when you no longer feel my arms around your shoulders, nor my heart beneath you, nor this mouth on your eyes, because I will have to go away some day, far away..." And in that instant I could feel myself with him gone, dizzy with fear, sinking down into the most horrible blackness: into death.”

FeelsHeartSeemsEyeGoneArmsMy HeartMouthsDisappointmentShouldersHorribleInstantGoing AwayFar AwaySinkingBlacknessDizzy
Author:Arthur Rimbaud
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“...these poets here, you see, they are not of this world:let them live their strange life; let them be cold and hungry, let them run, love and sing: they are as rich as Jacques Coeur, all these silly children, for they have their souls full of rhymes, rhymes which laugh and cry, which make us laugh or cry: Let them live: God blesses all the merciful: and the world blesses the poets.”

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Author:Arthur Rimbaud
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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.”

DoneLightLostStrongCitiesFireAirSeaDrinkEuropeClimateLeavingDearAlcoholEveningSmokeGrassSwimShoreMetalsAncestorHungLungsHere I AmLight UpBoilingBrittanyCity LightsSea Air
Author:Arthur Rimbaud
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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.”

SelfTogetherCertainInterestCoupleMarriedGainsStupiditySelfishnessAttachmentSelf InterestComplacencyFear Of LoveMarried CouplesPersonal Gain
Author:Arthur Rimbaud
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“On the blue summer evenings, I will go along the paths, And walk over the short grass, as I am pricked by the wheat: Daydreaming I will feel the coolness on my feet. I will let the wind bathe my bare head. I will not speak, I will have no thoughts: But infinite love will mount in my soul; And I will go far, far off, like a gypsy, through the countryside - as happy as if I were a woman. "Sensation”

IfsFeelsSoulSpeakWalksPathFeetWindSummerInfiniteBlueMy SoulEveningGrassSensationsDaydreamingCountrysideWheatGypsyCoolnessInfinite LoveSummer Evening
Author:Arthur Rimbaud
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“I'm now making myself as scummy as I can. Why? I want to be a poet, and I'm working at turning myself into a seer. You won't understand any of this, and I'm almost incapable of explaining it to you. The idea is to reach the unknown by the derangement of all the senses. It involves enormous suffering, but one must be strong and be a born poet. It's really not my fault.”

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Author:Arthur Rimbaud
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