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
photography art real
If photography is allowed to stand in for art in some of its functions it will soon supplant or corrupt it completely thanks to the natural support it will find in the stupidity of the multitude. It must return to its real task, which is to be the servant of the sciences and the arts, but the very humble servant, like printing and shorthand which have neither created nor supplanted literature.
photography art believe
Since photography gives us every guarantee of exactitude that we could desire (they really believe that, the mad fools !), then photography and art are the same thing.
photography art enemy
This industry [photography], by invading the territories of art, has become art's most mortal enemy.
photography art stupidity
If photography is allowed to supplement art in some of its functions, it will soon have supplanted or corrupted it altogether, thanks to the stupidity of the multitude which is its natural ally.
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.