Author of quotes: Arthur Rimbaud. Page 4

I called the executioners, that, dying, to bite the butts of their guns. All distress I called upon, to suffocate in sand and blood. Misfortune was my God. I was lying in the mud. Was dries in the wind of the crime. Was joking with madness. And spring brought me the monstrous laughter of the idiot. However, recently discovered that I am on the verge of a last wheeze, I key decided to find from the old feast, where may be come to your appetite!
The key is mercy. This decision proves that I'm delirious!

Any craft inspires me the disgust. Farmers, owners and workers of abomination. Hand with pen is no better hands on the plow. Handy what age! Never get my hand in. And then to be hand - it can make far. I was depressing the nobility of poverty. Criminals disgust me like eunuchs: me inherent wholeness, but that I don't care.

You're not going anywhere. Again you can roam the local roads, burdened with my Vice, rooted suffering around you, at that age, when the mind wakes - he rises into the sky, hits me, knocks, dragging me with him.
The last purity and the last timidity. Solved. Not bear in this world my betrayal and my disgust.

I should have my hell for anger, my hell for pride and a hell of caresses; a set of Hells.

Me frightens winter, because winter is a time of comfort.

Spiritual battle as fierce as the battles of the army; but the contemplation of justice - fun, accessible only to God.