To whom shall I hire myself out? What beast should I adore? What holy image is attacked? What hearts shall I break? What lies should I uphold? In what blood tread?
Rather steer clear of the law.- The hard life, simple brutishness,- to lift with withered fist the coffin’s lid, to sit, to suffocate. And thus no old age, no dangers: terror is not French.
– Ah! I am so utterly forsaken that to any divine image whatsoever, I offer my impulses toward perfection.
O my abnegation, O my marvelous charity! here below, however!
De profundis, Domine, what a fool I am!
– Translation of Une Saison en Enfer, Arthur Rimbaud