Mais vrai, j'ai trop pleuré. Les Aubes sont navrantes. Toute lune est atroce et tout soleil amer: L'âcre amour m'a gonflé de torpeurs enivrantes. O que ma quille éclate! O que j'aille à la mer!

Arthur Rimbaud

Mots clés rimbaud-bateau-ivre

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I am the saint at prayer on the terrace like the peaceful beasts that graze down to the sea of Palestine.

I am the scholar of the dark armchair. Branches and rain hurl themselves at the windows of my library.

I am the pedestrian of the highroad by way of the dwarf woods; the roar of the sluices drowns my steps. I can see for a long time the melancholy wash of the setting sun.

I might well be the child abandoned on the jetty on its way to the high seas, the little farm boy following the lane, its forehead touching the sky.

The paths are rough. The hillocks are covered with broom. The air is motionless. How far away are the birds and the springs! It can only be the end of the world ahead.

Arthur Rimbaud

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Quand le monde sera réduit en un seul bois noir pour nos quatre yeux étonnés, - en une plage pour deux enfants fidèles, - en une maison musicale pour notre claire sympathie, - je vous trouverai.

Arthur Rimbaud

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But I've just noticed that my mind is asleep.

Arthur Rimbaud

Mots clés catastrophism

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Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.

Arthur Rimbaud

Mots clés genius

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به همه جا برو به همه چیز پاسخ بده هیچ چیز نمی تواند جسد تو را دوباره بکشد!

Arthur Rimbaud

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But the problem is to make the soul into a monster

Arthur Rimbaud

Mots clés soul

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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

Arthur Rimbaud

Mots clés poetry poets

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All day long he was docile, intelligent, good, Though sometimes changing to a darker mood. He seemed hypocritical, could tell better lies, in the dark he saw dots of colors behind closed eyes, clenched fists, put his tongue out at his elder brother.

Arthur Rimbaud

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True alchemy lies in this formula: ‘Your memory and your senses are but the nourishment of your creative impulse’.

Arthur Rimbaud

Mots clés art writing creativity

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