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Charles Baudelaire Quotes - Page 11

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In this horror of solitude, this need to lose his ego in exterior flesh, which man calls grandly the need for love.

In this horror of solitude, this need to lose his ego in exterior flesh, which man calls grandly the need for love.

Charles Baudelaire
Love, Men, Poetry
Charles Baudelaire, Christopher Isherwood, W. H. Auden (2006). “Intimate Journals”, p.95, Courier Corporation

There is no more steely barb than that of the Infinite.

Charles Baudelaire
Literature, Infinity, Infinite
Charles Baudelaire (1951). “My heart laid bare, and other prose writings”

When a singer puts his hand on his heart, it means usually, I will always love you!

Charles Baudelaire
Love You, Heart, Mean

I am a cemetery abhorred by the moon, In which long worms crawl like remorse.

Charles Baudelaire
Moon, Long, Worms
Charles Baudelaire, “Spleen (Ii)”

I am bored in France because everyone resembles Voltaire.

Charles Baudelaire
Bored, France, Conformity

Certes, je sortirai quant a' moi satisfait D'un monde o u' l'action n'est pas la soeur du re" ve. Indeed, for my part, I shall be happy to leave A world where action is not sister to the dream.

Charles Baudelaire
Dream, World, Action
1857 Les Fleurs du mal,'Le Reniement de Saint-Pierre'.

...and the lamp having at last resigned itself to death. There was nothing now but firelight in the room, And every time a flame uttered a gasp for breath It flushed her amber skin with the blood of its bloom.

Charles Baudelaire
Flames, Blood, Skins
Charles Baudelaire (1955). “Flowers of Evil: A Selection”, p.25, New Directions Publishing

As for techniques and processes, as seen in the works themselves, neither public nor artists will find anything about them here. Those things are learned in the studio and the public is interested only in the results.

Charles Baudelaire
Artist, Technique, Methodology
Charles Baudelaire (1981). “Baudelaire: Selected Writings on Art and Artists”, p.50, CUP Archive

He possessed the logic of all good intentions and a knowledge of all the tricks of his trade, and yet he never succeeded at anything, because he believed too much in the impossible. Surprising? Why so? He was forever in the act of conceiving it!

Charles Baudelaire
Forever, Too Much, Impossible
Charles Baudelaire (1986). “La Fanfarlo”

It is the pleasure of astonishing others, and the proud satisfaction of never being astonished by them.

Charles Baudelaire
Proud, Satisfaction, Pleasure

The priest is an immense being because he makes the crowd believe astonishing things.

Charles Baudelaire
Believe, Literature, Crowds

Today I felt pass over me A breath of wind from the wings of madness.

Charles Baudelaire
Wind, Wings, Insanity

In my mind it strolls, as well as in my apartment. A cat, strong, sweet and delightful.

Charles Baudelaire
Sweet, Strong, Cat

It's the devil who pulls the strings that make us dance

Charles Baudelaire
Devil, Strings
Charles Baudelaire (1961). “Baudelaire: Introduced and edited by Francis Scarfe, with plain prose translations of each poem”

The idea of beauty which man creates for himself imprints itself on his whole attire, crumples or stiffens his dress, rounds off or squares his gesture, and in the long run even ends by subtly penetrating the very features of his face. Man ends by looking like his ideal self. These engravings can be translated either into beauty or ugliness; in one direction, they become caricatures, in the other, antique statues.

Charles Baudelaire
Running, Men, Squares
Charles Baudelaire (1986). “The Painter of Modern Life and Other Essays”

All fashions are charming, or rather relatively charming, each one being a new striving, more or less well conceived, after beauty, an approximate statement of an ideal, the desire for which constantly teases the unsatisfied human mind.

Charles Baudelaire
Fashion, Mind, Desire

Do you remember the sight we saw, my soul, that soft summer morning round a turning in the path, the disgusting carcass on a bed scattered with stones, its legs in the air like a woman in need burning its wedding poisons like a fountain with its rhythmic sobs, I could hear it clearly flowing with a long murmuring sound, but I touch my body in vain to find the wound. I am the vampire of my own heart, one of the great outcasts condemned to eternal laughter who can no longer smile. Am I dead? I must be dead.

Charles Baudelaire
Summer, Morning, Laughter

Art is an infinitely precious good, a draught both refreshing and cheering which restores the stomach and the mind to the natural equilibrium of the ideal.

Charles Baudelaire
Art, Cheer, Mind
Charles Baudelaire, Jonathan Mayne (1981). “Art in Paris 1845-1862: salons and other exhibitions”

In art, there is one thing which does not receive sufficient attention. The element which is left to the human will is not nearly so large as people think.

Charles Baudelaire
Art, Thinking, People

A precious liquid, a poison dearer than that of the Borgias - because it is made from our blood, our health, our sleep, and two-thirds of our love - we must be stingy with it.

Charles Baudelaire
Hate, Sleep, Blood

Nature is a word, an allegory, a mold, an embossing, if you will.

Charles Baudelaire
Mold, Allegory, Ifs

For the merchant, even honesty is a financial speculation.

Charles Baudelaire
Honesty, Business, Financial

Everything, alas, is an abyss, — actions, desires, dreams, words!

Charles Baudelaire
Dream, Desire, Action
"Le Gouffre". Poem by Charles Baudelaire, 1862.

A child sees everything in a sense of newness - he is always drunk. Genius is nothing but childhood re-attained at will.

Charles Baudelaire
Children, Drunk, Childhood

A frenzied passion for art is a canker that devours everything else.

Charles Baudelaire
Art, Passion, Art Is

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