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
sweet strong cat
In my mind it strolls, as well as in my apartment. A cat, strong, sweet and delightful..
summer sweet air
My love, do you recall the object which we saw, That fair, sweet, summer morn! At a turn in the path a foul carcass On a gravel strewn bed, Its legs raised in the air, like a lustful woman, Burning and dripping with poisons, Displayed in a shameless, nonchalant way Its belly, swollen with gases.
sweet cat eye
From his soft fur, golden and brown, Goes out so sweet a scent, one night I might have been embalmed in it By giving him one little pet. He is my household's guardian soul; He judges, he presides, inspires All matters in his royal realm; Might he be fairy? or a god? When my eyes, to this cat I love Drawn as by a magnet's force, Turn tamely back upon that appeal, And when I look within myself, I notice with astonishment The fire of his opal eyes, Clear beacons glowing, living jewels, Taking my measure, steadily.
sweet mouths silent
A silent mouth is sweet to hear.
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.