hush-syrup reblogged
The sufferings [of a poet] are enormous, but one has to be tough, one has to be born a poet, and I’ve come to realize I’m a poet. It’s not all my fault. It’s wrong to say: I think. One has to say: I am thought…. I is another. Too bad for the wood that finds itself a violin, and to hell with the unaware who babble and crackle about things they can’t understand at all.
Letter to Charles Izambard from Rimbaud (via heteroglossia)
