French Poet, Art Critic
Charles Pierre Baudelaire
French Poet, Art Critic
To handle a language skillfully is to practice a kind of evocative sorcery.
Wandering aimlessly, broken by my thoughts, which slowly sharpened daggers at my heart.
In the domain of painting and statuary, the present-day credo of the worldly wise, especially in France, is this: ... I believe that art is, and can only be, the exact reproduction of nature... An avenging God has heard the prayers of this multitude; Daguerre was his messiah.
It is good sometimes that the happy of this world should learn, were it only to humble their foolish pride for an instant, that there are higher, wider, and rarer joys than theirs.
It was late; and a new medal. The full moon was spread, and the solemnity of the night, like a river over sleeping Paris streaming.
Listen, my dear-- with soft step the night hears.
My dear brothers, never forget, when you hear the progress of enlightenment vaunted, that the devil's best trick is to persuade you that he doesn't exist!
Nothing is as tedious as the limping days, when snowdrifts yearly cover all the ways, And ennui, sour fruit of incurious gloom, Assumes control of fate?s immortal loom
Once we have burned our brains out, we can plunge to Hell or Heaven?any abyss will do?deep in the Unknown to find the new!
Poetry has no goal other than itself; it can have no other, and no poem will be so great, so noble, so truly worthy of the name of poem, than one written uniquely for the pleasure of writing a poem.
She is very ugly. And yet, it is delicious! Time and Love have noted with the claws and have cruelly taught what each minute and each kiss take youth and freshness. It is truly ugly; is ant, spider, if you want to skeleton: but it is also concoction, teachers, spell! In short, it is exquisite. There was the time to break the sparkling harmony of her gait and indestructible elegance of its frame. Love could not alter the softness of her child breath, and time nothing ripped from his abundant mane exhaling perfume griffon all vitality French Midi: Nimes, Aix, Arles, Avignon, Narbonne, Toulouse, blessed cities sun, in love and lovely! In vain with good teeth bit into Time and Love; nothing will capture the vague charm, but eternal, his chest doncel. Perhaps, but not tired, and always heroic, suggests those horses fine race the eyes of the true aficionado distinguish even go hooked to a rental car or a slow wagon. And it is also so sweet and earnest! As you want in autumn; it would seem that the approach of winter turns in his heart a new fire, and nothing was ever fatiguing as servile tenderness.
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 an essential part and characteristic of beauty.
The eternal Venus (caprice, hysteria, fantasy) is one of the seductive forms of the Devil.
The man who is unable to people his solitude is equally unable to be alone in a bustling crowd. The poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able to be himself or someone else, as he chooses? The solitary and thoughtful stroller finds a singular intoxication in this universal communion? What men call love is a very small, restricted, feeble thing compared with this ineffable orgy, this divine prostitution of the soul giving itself entire... to the unexpected as it comes along, the stranger as he passes.
The pleasure we derive from the representation of the present is due, not only to the beauty it can be clothed in, but also to its essential quality of being the present.
The storm rejuvenates the flowers.
The world only goes round by misunderstanding.
There is a certain cowardice, a certain weakness, rather, among respectable folk. Only brigands are convinced-of what? That they must succeed. And so they do succeed.
This is what a girl really is. A little fool, a little slut; the greatest idiocy united with the greatest depravity.
To know means that contradict. There is a degree of non - contradiction does not amount to nothing but a lie.
We all have the republican spirit in our veins, like syphilis in our bones. We are democratized and venerealized.
In the flood of her joy, the Moon filled the room like a phosphoric atmosphere, like a luminous poison.
It is imagination that has taught man the moral sense of color, of contour, of sound and of scent. It created, in the beginning of the world, analogy and metaphor. It disassembles creation, and with materials gathered and arranged by rules whose origin is only to be found in the very depths of the soul, it creates a new world, it produces the sensation of the new. As it has created the world (this can be said, I believe, even in the religious sense), it is just that it should govern it.
It would be difficult for me not to conclude that the most perfect type of masculine beauty is Satan, as portrayed by Milton.
Litanies of Satan: O thou, the wisest and most beautiful of the angels, God betrayed by fate and private praise, O Satan, take pity on my great misery! Oh, Prince of exile, who has been wronged, and, defeated, always more powerful back you up, O Satan, take pity on my great misery! You all know, great king of subterranean things, you, familiar healer of human anguish, O Satan , have pity on my great misery! you who, even the lepers and the cursed pariah, teach through love the taste of Paradise, O Satan, take pity on my great misery! O thou who of Death, that old lover and powerful, beget Hope, that adorable crazy, O Satan, take pity on my great misery! You who give the convicted person that look around the scaffold that arrogant and serene, an entire sentence people, O Satan, take pity my great misery! You who know in what corner of the anxious lands the jealous God hid their precious stones, O Satan, take pity on my great misery! Thou whose clear eye knows the deep arsenals where sleeping enshrouded the people of the metals, O Satan, take pity on my great misery! Thou whose outstretched hand hidden precipices the sleepwalker who wanders the edge of buildings, O Satan, take pity on my great misery! You who magically make flexible the old bones of drunk behind the horses ran over, O Satan, take pity on my great misery! you who, to console the frail suffering, teach us to mix saltpeter and sulfur, O Satan, take pity on my great misery! you who put your mark, subtle oh accomplice, in front of the ruthless and vile Croesus, O Satan, take pity on my great misery! You who put in the heart of girls worship wounds and love rags, O Satan, take pity on my great misery! Crosier of exile, lamp inventor, confessor of the hanged and conspirator, O Satan, take pity on my great misery! Adoptive father of those who, in their black anger, God father of earthly paradise expelled, O Satan, take pity on my great misery! Prayer Glory and praise to you, Satan, in the heights of Heaven where queens, and in the depths of Hell where, vanquished, in dream quietly Make my soul one day, beneath the tree of Knowledge, near you rest, in the time on your forehead as a new Temple its branches extend.