Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Pierre Baudelaire; April 9, 1821 – August 31, 1867) was a French poet who also produced notable work as an essayist, art critic, and pioneering translator of Edgar Allan Poe...
NationalityFrench
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth9 April 1821
CityParis, France
CountryFrance
art thinking people
In art, there is one thing which does not receive sufficient attention. The element which is left to the human will is not nearly so large as people think.
pain ordinary alive
What is it that brings on these moods of yours? Nothing mysterious: the ordinary pain of being alive.
inspirational succeed weakness
There is a certain cowardice, a certain weakness, rather, among respectable folk. Only brigands are convinced-of what? That they must succeed. And so they do succeed.
country men cities
Man loves man so much that when he flees the city, it is still to seek the crowd, that is, to rebuild the city in the country.
flower evil come-up
Evil comes up softly like a flower.
heart beast plus
Ne cherchez plus mon coeur; les be" tes l'ont mange . Don't search any further for my heart; wild beasts ate it.
dream desire action
Everything, alas, is an abyss, — actions, desires, dreams, words!
work want produce
The more one works, the better one works, and the more one wants to work. The more one produces, the more fertile one grows.
greatness men order
Nations, like families, have great men only in spite of themselves. They do everything in their power not to have any. And therefore, the great man, in order to exist, must possess a force of attack which is greater than the force of resistance developed by millions of people.
dream work poor
Immediate work, even poor, is worth more than dreams.
women hair hands
A man who from the beginning has long been soaked in the languid atmosphere of a woman, the scent of her hands, her bosom, her knees, her hair, her lithe and flowing clothes ... has acquired a delicacy of skin, a refinement of tone, a kind of androgyny without which the toughest and most virile of geniuses remains, when it comes to artistic perfection, an incomplete being.
progress world misunderstanding
The world progresses only through misunderstanding.
eye imperfect-things joy
It is at once by way of poetry and through poetry, as with music, that the soul glimpses splendors from beyond the tomb; and when an exquisite poem brings one's eyes to the point of tears, those tears are not evidence of an excess of joy, they are witness far more to an exacerbated melancholy, a disposition of the nerves, a nature exiled among imperfect things, which would like to possess, without delay, a paradise revealed on this very same earth.
love self needs
What is love? The need of coming out of one's self.