My soul travels on the smell of perfume like the souls of other men on music.
CHARLES BAUDELAIREThe poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able to be himself and others, as he wishes.
More Charles Baudelaire Quotes
-
-
What is irritating about love is that it is a crime that requires an accomplice.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE -
Comme l’imagination a cre e le monde, elle le gouverne. Because imagination created the world, it governs it.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE -
The poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able to be himself and others, as he wishes.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE -
Multitude, solitude: equal and interchangeable terms for the active and prolific poet.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE -
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 -
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 -
Genius is simply childhood, rediscovered by an act of will.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE -
A silent mouth is sweet to hear.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE -
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 -
The immense appetite we have for biography comes from a deep-seated sense of equality.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE -
Nations, like families, have great men only in spite of themselves.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE -
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 -
What could be more simple and more complex, more obvious and more profound than a portrait.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE -
Through the Unknown, we’ll find the New
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE -
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