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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.

Charles Baudelaire

Drowsing, they take the noble attitude of a great sphinx, who, in a desert land, sleeps always, dreaming dreams that have no end.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Attitude Dream Sleep
This life is a hospital where every patient is possessed with the desire to change beds; one man would like to suffer in front of the stove, and another believes that he would recover his health beside the window.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Believe Men Suffer
What is irritating about love is that it is a crime that requires an accomplice.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Beauty Best Crime Love
The life of our city is rich in poetic and marvelous subjects. We are enveloped and steeped as though in an atmosphere of the marvelous; but we do not notice it.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Atmosphere City Life
A silent mouth is sweet to hear.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Mouth Silent Sweet
I love Wagner, but the music I prefer is that of a cat hung up by its tail outside a window and trying to stick to the panes of glass with its claws.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Cat Glass Music Window
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.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Cities Country Men
What could be more simple and more complex, more obvious and more profound than a portrait.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Portrait Profound Simple
The immense appetite we have for biography comes from a deep-seated sense of equality.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Appetite Biography Immense
La volupte unique et supre” me de l’amour g|”t dans la certitude de faire le mal. The unique, supreme pleasure of love consists in the certainty of doing evil.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Evil Pleasure Unique
Genius is simply childhood, rediscovered by an act of will.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Childhood Genius
My soul travels on the smell of perfume like the souls of other men on music.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Men Music Travel
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.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Art Contingent Element Half
Extract the eternal from the ephemeral.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Ephemeral Eternal Extract
Multitude, solitude: equal and interchangeable terms for the active and prolific poet.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Crowd Poet Solitude
Comme l’imagination a cre e le monde, elle le gouverne. Because imagination created the world, it governs it.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Create Imagination Monde World
The poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able to be himself and others, as he wishes.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Able Privilege Wish
Through the Unknown, we’ll find the New
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Found New People World
What is love? The need of coming out of one’s self.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Love Need People Self
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.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Agony Depth Heart
It is from the womb of art that criticism was born.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Art Born Criticism
Everything that gives pleasure has its reason. To scorn the mobs of those who go astray is not the means to bring them around.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Give Mean Reason
Nations, like families, have great men only in spite of themselves.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Baudelaire Family Like Men
That which is not slightly distorted lacks sensible appeal; from which it follows that irregularity – that is to say, the unexpected, surprise and astonishment, are a essential part and characteristic of beauty.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

Astonishment Essential Unexpected

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.

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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.

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Popular Authors

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