I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.
Arthur RimbaudThe poet makes himself a voyant through a long, immense reasoned deranging of all his senses. All the forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he tries to find himself, he exhausts in himself all the poisons, to keep only their quintessences.
Arthur Rimbaud