Charles Pierre Baudelaire

Charles Pierre

French Poet, Art Critic

Author Quotes

Not to be slaves and martyrs of Time, drunken, drunken ceaselessly. Wine, poetry or virtue; of what you want.

On the vaporization and the centralization of the Self. All is there.

Photographers, you will never become artists. All you are is mere copiers.

Scent, sound or sight, beneficent, malign ? Who cares if you?re a blessing or a curse, So long as you bring light,

Tell me, your heart sometimes he flies away, Agathe!

The devil's finest trick is to persuade you that he does not exist.

The lover of life makes the whole world into his family, just as the lover of the fair sex creates his from all the lovely women he has found, from those that could be found, and those who are impossible to find.

The People adore authority.

The solitary and thoughtful stroller finds a singular intoxication in this universal communion. The man who loves to lose himself in a crowd enjoys feverish delights that the egoist locked up in himself as in a box, and the slothful man like a mollusk in his shell, will be eternally deprived of. He adopts as his own all the occupations, all the joys and all the sorrows that chance offers.

The wonderful surrounds us and soaks us like the atmosphere. And yet, we do not see.

There are women who inspire you with the desire to conquer them and to take your pleasure of them; but this one fills you only with the desire to die slowly beneath her gaze.

These tall and handsome ships, swaying imperceptibly on tranquil waters, these sturdy ships, with their inactive, nostalgic appearance, don?t they say to us in a speechless tongue: When do we cast off for happiness?

To fornicate is to aspire to enter into another; the artist never emerges from himself.

Unable to suppress love, the Church wanted at least to disinfect it, and it created marriage.

In philosophical inquiry, the human spirit, imitating the movement of the stars, must follow a curve which brings it back to its point of departure. To conclude is to close a circle.

It is easy to understand why the rabble dislike cats. A cat is beautiful; it suggests ideas of luxury, cleanliness, voluptuous pleasures.

It might be pleasant to be alternately victim and executioner.

Life swarms with innocent monsters.

Music pierces the sky.

Nothing can be done except little by little.

Once our heart has been harvested once, Life becomes miserable.

Poe?s drunkenness was a mnemonic device, a deliberate method of work, drastic and fatal, no doubt, but suited to his passionate nature. Poe taught himself to drink, just as a careful man of letters makes a deliberate practice of filling his notebooks with notes.

Second, exactly three thousand six hundred times an hour, whisper it: Remember! - Come quickly, the sound of an insect, now says: I do not even past, even with the life I suck hose Disgusting!

Thanks be to God, Who gives us suffering as sacred remedy for all our sins, that best and purest essence which prepares the strong in spirit for divine delights!

The Devil's hand directs our every move the things we loathed become the things we love; day by day we drop through stinking shades quite undeterred on our descent to Hell.

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Charles Pierre
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French Poet, Art Critic