The poet makes himself a voyant through a long, immense reasoned deranging of all his senses. All the forms of love, of… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
All day long he was docile, intelligent, good, Though sometimes changing to a darker mood. He seemed hypocritical, could tell better lies,… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
Then you'll feel your cheek scratched... A little kiss, like a crazy spider, Will run round your neck... And you'll say to… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
For a long time I found the celebrities of modern painting and poetry ridiculous. I loved absurd pictures, fanlights, stage scenery, mountebanks… — 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
