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| RIMBAUD
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| ''Boredom is no longer my love. Rage, perversion, madness, whose every impulse and disaster I know, – my burden is set down entire. Let us appraise with clear heads the extent of my innocence.
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| I am no longer able to ask for the consolation of a beating. I don’t imagine I’m off on a honeymoon with Jesus Christ as my father-in-law.
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| I am no prisoner of my own reason. I have said: God. I want freedom within salvation: how shall I go about it? A taste for frivolity has left me. No further need for divine love or for devotion to duty. I do not regret the age of emotion and feeling. To each his own reason, contempt, Charity: I keep my place at the top of the angelic ladder of good sense.
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| As for settled happiness, domestic or not… no, I can’t. I am too dissipated, too weak. Work makes life blossom, an old idea, not mine; my life doesn’t weigh enough, it drifts off and floats far beyond action, that third pole of the world.
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| What an old maid I’m turning into, to lack the courage to love death!
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| If only God would grant me that celestial calm, etherial calm, and prayer, – like the saints of old. – The Saints! They were strong! Anchorites, artists of a kind we no longer need!
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| Does this farce have no end? My innocence is enough to make me cry. Life is the farce we all must play.''
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Latest revision as of 18:50, 9 December 2012
