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Complete Works

Arthur Rimbaud

Top 10 Best Quotes

“A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.”

“I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; Garlands from window to window; Golden chains from star to star ... And I dance.”

“Evening prayer I spend my life sitting, like an angel in a barber's chair, Holding a beer mug with deep-cut designs, My neck and gut both bent, while in the air A weightless veil of pipe smoke hangs. Like steaming dung within an old dovecote A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn. And then, when I have swallowed down my Dreams In thirty, forty mugs of beer, I turn To satisfy a need I can't ignore, And like the Lord of Hyssop and of Myrrh I piss into the skies, a soaring stream That consecrates a patch of flowering fern.”

“These verses believe; they love; they hope; that is all.”

“In winter we’ll travel in a little pink carriage With cushions of blue. We’ll be fine. A nest of mad kisses waits In each corner too. You’ll shut your eyes, not to see, through the glass, Grimacing shadows of evening, Those snarling monsters, a crowd going past Of black wolves and black demons. Then you’ll feel your cheek tickled quite hard… A little kiss, like a maddened spider, Will run over your neck… And you’ll say: “Catch it!” bowing your head, – And we’ll take our time finding that creature – Who travels so far…

“Those fine september nights, when the dew dropped On my face and I licked it to get drunk.”

“You break From earthly approval And common urges: Then soar, accordingly”

“The first study for the man who wants to be a poet is knowledge of himself, complete: he searches for his soul, he inspects it, he puts it to the test, he learns it. As soon as he has learned it, he must cultivate it! I say that one must be a seer, make oneself a seer. The poet becomes a seer through a long, immense, and reasoned derangement of all the senses. All shapes of love suffering, madness. He searches himself, he exhausts all poisons in himself, to keep only the quintessences. Ineffable torture where he needs all his faith, all his superhuman strength, where he becomes among all men the great patient, the great criminal, the great accursed one--and the supreme Scholar! For he reaches the unknown! ....So the poet is actually a thief of Fire! ―

“Yes, Man is sad beneath the echoing sky; he clothes himself, he is no longer chaste, he has soiled his splendid body, gift of the gods... Yes, even after death, in pallid skeletons he hopes to live, insulting the beauty he once owned!”

“There is a small green valley where a river chants, Wildly, catching rags of silver on the water plants; Where the sun shines from the proud hill’s height, There is a small valley brimming with light. A young soldier sleeps, open-mouthed, bare head, His nape by the cool watercress of the river bed. Asleep; under the clouds, upon the grass he lies, Pale, in his green bed where rays fall from the skies. Feet stretched among the gladioli, sleeping still. Smiling in slumber, as children do when they are ill. Earth, do keep him warm. Be kind. He is cold. His nostrils don’t quiver with the fragrant wind; One hand across his breast, he sleeps in the sun, He is at peace. In his right side, two red holes.”

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Book Keywords:

poetry, dreams, hope

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