Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love! — 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
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
“I am unknown; what does it matter? Poets are brothers. These lines believe; they love; they hope; and that is all. Dear… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
“The hallucinations are innumerable. That's what has always been the matter with me, in fact: no belief in history, obliviousness of principles.… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
I invented the colors of the vowels!--A black, E white, I red, O blue, U green--I made rules for the form and… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
And from that time on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, Devouring the green azures;… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
“L'aube exalteé ainsi qu'un peuple de colombes, et j'ai vu quelquefois ce que l'homme a cru voir! (And dawn, exalted like a… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
There shall be poets! When woman's unmeasured bondage shall be broken, when she shall live for and through herself, man--hitherto detestable--having let… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
...these poets here, you see, they are not of this world:let them live their strange life; let them be cold and hungry,… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
I'm now making myself as scummy as I can. Why? I want to be a poet, and I'm working at turning myself… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
The poet, therefore, is truly the thief of fire. He is responsible for humanity, for animals even; he will have to make… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
“A poet makes himself a visionary through a long, boundless, and systematized disorganization of all the senses. All forms of love, of… — 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… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
The first study for the man who wants to be a poet is knowledge of himself, complete: he searches for his soul,… — 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… — Arthur Rimbaud Copy Share Image
“And the poet says that by starlight You come seeking, in the night, the flowers that you picked And that he has… — 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
