Charles Baudelaire Quotes
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Le génie n'est que l'enfance retrouvée à volonté, l'enfance douée maintenant, pour s'exprimer, d'organes virils et de l'esprit analytique qui lui permet d'ordonner la somme de matériaux involontairement amassée.
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If rape, poison, daggers, arsonHave not yet embroidered with their pleasing designsThe banal canvas of our pitiable lives,It is because our souls have not enough boldness.
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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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Everything for me becomes allegory.
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All which is beautiful and noble is the result of reason and calculation.
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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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To be a great man and a saint for oneself, that is the only important thing.
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This life is a hospital in which every patient is possessed with a desire to change his bed.
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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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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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Swarming city, city full of dreams, Where the ghosts in broad daylight hang up the passers-by!
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A frenzied passion for art is a canker that devours everything else.
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Il faut travailler, sinon par goût, au moins par désespoir, puisque, tout bien vérifié, travailler est moins ennuyeux que s'amuser.
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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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It is the hour to be drunken! to escape being the martyred slaves of time, be ceaselessly drunk. On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as you wish.
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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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Et à quoi bon exécuter des projets, puisque le projet est en lui-même une jouissance suffisante?
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I can barely conceive of a type of beauty in which there is no Melancholy.
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Ne cherchez plus mon cœur; des monstres l’ont mangé.
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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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I consider it useless and tedious to represent what exists, because nothing that exists satisfies me. Nature is ugly, and I prefer the monsters of my fancy to what is positively trivial.
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But a dandy can never be a vulgar man.
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Music fathoms the sky.
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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.