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
morning drinking flower
Ascend beyond the sickly atmosphere to a higher plane, and purify yourself by drinking as if it were ambrosia the fire that fills and fuels Emptiness. Free from the futile strivings and the cares which dim existence to a realm of mist, happy is he who wings an upward way on mighty pinions to the fields of light; whose thoughts like larks spontaneously rise into the morning sky; whose flight, unchecked, outreaches life and readily comprehends the language of flowers and of all mute things.
flower evil come-up
Evil comes up softly like a flower.
morning flower men
Happy is the man who can with vigorous wing Mount to those luminous serene fields! The man whose thoughts, like larks, Take liberated flight toward the morning skies --Who hovers over life and understands without effort The language of flowers and voiceless things!
time flower circles
Here comes the time when, vibrating on its stem, every flower fumes like a censer; noises and perfumes circle in the evening air.
cannon directions fly happiness hear humanity limbs performing sacrifice search victims
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
absolutely against liking melancholy remedy
As a remedy against all ills; poverty, sickness, and melancholy only one thing is absolutely necessary; a liking for work.
accept conditions human life man sells
Any man who does not accept the conditions of human life sells his soul.
shown thank
Thank you. You have shown me the way back to myself.
dishonor fish swimming
I am swimming in dishonor like a fish in water.
breath wind wings
A breath of wind from the wings of madness.
hate passion doe
Passion I hate, and spirit does me wrong. Let us love gently.
travel home independent
For the perfect idler, for the passionate observer it becomes an immense source of enjoyment to establish his dwelling in the throng, in the ebb and flow, the bustle, the fleeting and the infinite. To be away from home and yet to feel at home anywhere; to see the world, to be at the very center of the world, and yet to be unseen of the world, such are some of the minor pleasures of those independent, intense and impartial spirits, who do not lend themselves easily to linguistic definitions. The observer is a prince enjoying his incognito wherever he goes.
summer fall autumn
Soon we will plunge ourselves into cold shadows, and all of summer's stunning afternoons will be gone. I already hear the dead thuds of logs below falling on the cobblestones and the lawn.
procrastination long tasks
No task is a long one but the task on which one dare not start. It becomes a nightmare.