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
civilization tables sin
Theory of the true civilization. It is not to be found in gas or steam or table turning. It consists in the diminution of the traces of original sin.
nature self voice
Nature... is nothing but the inner voice of self-interest.
vision looks window
He who looks through an open window sees fewer things than he who looks through a closed window.
inspiration imagination
Inspiration comes of working every day.
beauty fashion men
The idea which man forms of beauty imprints itself throughout his attire, rumples or stiffens his garments, rounds off or aligns his gestures, and, finally, even subtly penetrates the features of his face.
men water secret
A man who drinks only water has a secret to hide from his fellow men.
choices feelings way
Romanticism is precisely situated neither in choice of subject, nor exact truth, but in the way of feeling.
practice sacred sorcery
There is a word, in a verb, something sacred which forbids us from using it recklessly. To handle a language cunningly is to practice a kind of evocative sorcery.
literature melancholy type
I can barely conceive of a type of beauty in which there is no Melancholy.
happiness sacrifice humanity
The cannon thunders... limbs fly in all directions... one can hear the groans of victims and the howling of those performing the sacrifice... it's Humanity in search of happiness.
men like-family baudelaire
Nations, like families, have great men only in spite of themselves.
art elements half
Modernity is the transitory, the fugitive, the contingent, which make up one half of art, the other being the eternal and the immutable. This transitory fugitive element, which is constantly changing, must not be despised or neglected.
heart agony forests
Forest, I fear you! In my ruined heart your roaring wakens the same agony as in cathedrals when the organ moans and from the depths I hear that I am damned.
prayer sleep men
The man who says his evening prayer is a captain posting his sentinels. He can sleep.