The wolf howled under the leaves And spit out the prettiest feathers Of his meal of fowl: Like him I consume myself. - Arthur Rimbaud

The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses

Oh! Science! Everything has been revised. For the body and for the soul, — the viaticum, — there are medicine and philosophy, — old wives' remedies and popular songs rearranged. And the pastimes of princes and games they proscribed! Geography, cosmography, mechanics, chemistry!...

Science, the new nobility! Progress. The world marches on! Why shouldn’t it turn?

It is the vision of numbers. We are going toward the Spirit. There’s no doubt about it, an oracle, I tell you. I understand, and not knowing how to express myself without pagan words, I’d rather remain silent.

Je parvins à faire s'évanouir dans mon esprit toute l'espérance humaine.