Charles Baudelaire Quotes
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Even if it were proven that God didn't exist, Religion would still be Saintly and Divine.
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Progress, this great heresy of decay.
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Those men get along best with women who can get along best without them.
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How little remains of the man I once was, save the memory of him! But remembering is only a new form of suffering.
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La Nature est un temple où de vivants piliersLaissent parfois sortir de confuses paroles;L’homme y passe à travers des forêts de symbolesQui l’observent avec des regards familiers.
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Genius is childhood recalled at will.
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Un artiste n'est un artiste que grâce à son sens exquis du beau, - sens qui lui procure des jouissances enivrantes, mais qui en même temps implique, enferme un sens également exquis de toute difformité et de toute disproportion.
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Et à quoi bon exécuter des projets, puisque le projet est en lui-même une jouissance suffisante?
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'En toi je tomberai, végétale ambroisie,Grain précieux jeté par l'éternel Semeur,Pour que de notre amour naisse la poésieQui jaillira vers Dieu comme une rare fleur!'
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There is no more steely barb than that of the Infinite.
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Nature... is nothing but the inner voice of self-interest.
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A sweetheart is a bottle of wine, a wife is a wine bottle.
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A frenzied passion for art is a canker that devours everything else.
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All which is beautiful and noble is the result of reason and calculation.
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It is by universal misunderstanding that all agree. For if, by ill luck, people understood each other, they would never agree.
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Il n'existe que trois êtres respectables: le prêtre, le guerrier, le poète. Savoir, tuer et créer. Les autres hommes sont taillables et corvéables, faits pour l'écurie, c'est-à-dire pour exercer ce qu'on appelle des professions.
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Any newspaper, from the first line to the last, is nothing but a web of horrors, I cannot understand how an innocent hand can touch a newspaper without convulsing in disgust.
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La plus belle des ruses du diable est de vous persuader qu'il n'existe pas.
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It would be difficult for me not to conclude that the most perfect type of masculine beauty is Satan, as portrayed by Milton.
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It is time to get drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of Time, get drunk; get drunk without stopping! On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as you wish.
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Poetry and progress are like two ambitious men who hate one another with an instinctive hatred, and when they meet upon the same road, one of them has to give place.
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To be a great man and a saint for oneself, that is the only important thing.
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The life of our city is rich in poetic and marvelous subjects. We are enveloped and steeped as though in an atmosphere of the marvelous; but we do not notice it.
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Our religion is itself profoundly sad - a religion of universal anguish, and one which, because of its very catholicity, grants full liberty to the individual and asks no better than to be celebrated in each man's own language - so long as he knows anguish and is a painter.