What an old maid I'm getting to be. lacking the courage to be in love with death! — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
He would say, "How funny it will all seem, all you've gone through, when I'm not here anymore, when you no longer… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
“Terror came. I would fall into a slumber of days, and getting up would go on with the same sad dreams. I… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
“Against snow, a tall Beautiful Being. Whistlings of death and circles of muffled music make this adored body rise, swell and tremble… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
“As of today, I rebel against death! Work seems frivolous; I'm a proud man, and a lifetime's work would be too brief… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love! — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
“My turn now. The story of one of my insanities. For a long time I boasted that I was master of all possible landscapes--… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
“Delivered to oblivion...growing and flowering with incense and weeds to the sullen whine of nasty flies... I loved deserts, burnt out orchards, faded boutiques...I… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
“I On the calm black water where the stars are sleeping White Ophelia floats like a great lily; Floats very slowly, lying in her… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
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… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
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… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
Oh! If only we were naked now, and free to watch our protruding parts align; To whisper - both of us - in ecstasy! — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter. — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
What an old maid I'm getting to be. lacking the courage to be in love with death! — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
