Arthur Rimbaud

(20 October 1854 – 10 November 1891 / Charleville, Ardennes)

Arthur Rimbaud Quotes

  • ''The poet makes himself a seer by a long, prodigious, and rational disordering of all the senses. Every form of love, of suffering, of madness; he searches himself, he consumes all the poisons in him, and keeps only their quintessences.''
    Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891), French poet. Letter, May 15, 1871. Collected Poems, ed. Oliver Bernard (1962).
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  • ''I is another.''
    Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891), French poet. Letter, May 13, 1871. Collected Poems, ed. Oliver Bernard (1962).
  • ''I saw that all beings are fated to happiness: action is not life, but a way of wasting some force, an ennervation. Morality is the weakness of the brain.''
    Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891), French poet. repr. In Collected Poems, ed. Oliver Bernard (1962). "Délires II: Alchimie du Verbe," Une Saison en Enfer (1874).
  • ''But, truly, I have wept too much! The dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.''
    Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891), French poet. repr. In Collected Poems, ed. Oliver Bernard (1962). Le Bateau Ivre (written 1871).
  • ''Life is the farce which everyone has to perform.''
    Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891), French poet. "Mauvais Sang," Une Saison en Enfer (1874).
  • ''Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.''
    Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891), French poet. "Mauvais Sang," Une Saison en Enfer (1874).
  • ''I am the slave of my baptism. Parents, you have caused my misfortune, and you have caused your own.''
    Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891), French poet. repr. In Collected Poems, ed. Oliver Bernard (1962). "Nuit de l'Enfer," Une Saison en Enfer (1874).
  • ''When you are seventeen you aren't really serious.''
    Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891), French poet. repr. In Collected Poems, ed. Oliver Bernard (1962). Roman, sect. 1.
  • ''The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.''
    Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891), French poet. "Soleil et Chair," sct. 1, Collected Poems, ed. Oliver Bernard (1962).
  • ''Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.''
    Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891), French poet. Song of the Highest Tower, Collected Poems (written 1872), ed. Oliver Bernard (1962).

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Drunken Morning

Oh, my Beautiful! Oh, my Good!
Hideous fanfare where yet I do not stumble!
Oh, rack of enchantments!
For the first time, hurrah for the unheard-of work,
For the marvelous body! For the first time!
It began with the laughter of children, and there it will end.
This poison will stay in our veins even when, as the fanfares depart,
We return to our former disharmony.
Oh, now, we who are so worthy of these tortures!

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