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58896ef
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One should always be drunk. That's all that matters...But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.
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virtue
poetry
wine
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Charles Baudelaire |
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6024ce7
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Genius is nothing more nor less than childhood recaptured at will.
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Charles Baudelaire |
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7b00376
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La plus belle des ruses du diable est de vous persuader qu'il n'existe pas." ( )"
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existence
reality
ruse
ruses
sleight-of-hand
tricks
devil
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Charles Baudelaire |
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3804528
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Be always drunken. Nothing else matters: that is the only question. If you would not feel the horrible burden of Time weighing on your shoulders and crushing you to the earth, be drunken continually. Drunken with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you will. But be drunken. And if sometimes, on the stairs of a palace, or on the green side of a ditch, or in the dreary solitude of your own room, you should awaken and the drunkenn..
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Charles Baudelaire |
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49b4db5
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I am a cemetery by the moon unblessed.
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moon
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Charles Baudelaire |
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7e1cb20
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The Devil pulls the strings which make us dance; We find delight in the most loathsome things;
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devil
horror
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Charles Baudelaire |
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35526c0
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What can an eternity of damnation matter to someone who has felt, if only for a second, the infinity of delight?
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delight
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Charles Baudelaire |
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f3fbf66
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My heart is lost; the beasts have eaten it.
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poem
poetry
heart
conversations
eat
eaten
les-fleurs-du-mal
the-flowers-of-evil
lost
charles-baudelaire
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Charles Baudelaire |
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9968047
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Genius is no more than childhood recaptured at will, childhood equipped now with man's physical means to express itself, and with the analytical mind that enables it to bring order into the sum of experience, involuntarily amassed.
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process
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Charles Baudelaire |
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1802e34
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The Poet is a kinsman in the clouds Who scoffs at archers, loves a stormy day; But on the ground, among the hooting crowds, He cannot walk, his wings are in the way.
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Charles Baudelaire |
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d39d6ad
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I love to watch the fine mist of the night come on, The windows and the stars illumined, one by one, The rivers of dark smoke pour upward lazily, And the moon rise and turn them silver. I shall see The springs, the summers, and the autumns slowly pass; And when old Winter puts his blank face to the glass, I shall close all my shutters, pull the curtains tight, And build me stately palaces by candlelight.
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winter
evening
night
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Charles Baudelaire |
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0b91fd1
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As a small child, I felt in my heart two contradictory feelings, the horror of life and the ecstasy of life.
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wonder
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Charles Baudelaire |
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2f2fdab
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But the true voyagers are only those who leave Just to be leaving; hearts light, like balloons, They never turn aside from their fatality And without knowing why they always say: "Let's go!"
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Charles Baudelaire |
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557cf60
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You are sitting and smoking; you believe that you are sitting in your pipe, and that is smoking ; you are exhaling in bluish clouds. You feel just fine in this position, and only one thing gives you worry or concern: how will you ever be able to get out of your pipe?
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Charles Baudelaire |
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77c57c7
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One should always be drunk. That's all that matters; that's our one imperative need. So as not to feel Time's horrible burden that breaks your shoulders and bows you down, you must get drunk without ceasing. But what with? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you choose. But get drunk. And if, at some time, on the steps of a palace, in the green grass of a ditch, in the bleak solitude of your room, you are waking up when drunkenness h..
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Charles Baudelaire |
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a784cc4
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To be away from home and yet to feel oneself everywhere at home; to see the world, to be at the centre of the world, and yet to remain hidden from the world--impartial natures which the tongue can but clumsily define. The spectator is a prince who everywhere rejoices in his incognito.
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Charles Baudelaire |
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aadd64c
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It always seems to me that I should feel well in the place where I am not.
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Charles Baudelaire |
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c173c5c
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Through the Unknown, we'll find the New
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Charles Baudelaire |
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3800f35
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Inspiration comes of working every day.
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writing
inspirational
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Charles Baudelaire |
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02d7c7c
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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 et..
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murder
poetry
death
primal-scene
horror
vampires
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Charles Baudelaire |
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0bd5aa6
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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
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winter
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Charles Baudelaire |
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2bf1947
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Passion I hate, and spirit does me wrong. Let us love gently.
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Charles Baudelaire |
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99c78db
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And yet to wine, to opium even, I prefer the elixir of your lips on which love flaunts itself; and in the wasteland of desire your eyes afford the wells to slake my thirst.
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lips
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charles baudelaire |
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482657a
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the Devil's hand directs our every move - / the things we loathed become the things we love
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Charles Baudelaire |
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24547f4
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Laments of an Icarus The paramours of courtesans Are well and satisfied, content. But as for me my limbs are rent Because I clasped the clouds as mine. I owe it to the peerless stars Which flame in the remotest sky That I see only with spent eyes Remembered suns I knew before. In vain I had at heart to find The center and the end of space. Beneath some burning, unknown gaze I feel my very wings unpinned And, burned because I beauty loved, ..
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courtesan
icarus
paramours
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Charles Baudelaire |
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9eafc18
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It is this admirable, this immortal, instinctive sense of beauty that leads us to look upon the spectacle of this world as a glimpse, a correspondence with heaven. Our unquenchable thirst for all that lies beyond, and that life reveals, is the liveliest proof of our immortality. It is both by poetry and through poetry, by music and through music, that the soul dimly descries the splendours beyond the tomb; and when an exquisite poem brings ..
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Charles Baudelaire |
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8dba902
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This life is a hospital in which each patient is possessed by the desire to change beds. One wants to suffer in front of the stove and another believes that he will get well near the window. It always seems to me that I will be better off there where I am not, and this question of moving about is one that I discuss endlessly with my soul "Tell me, my soul, my poor chilled soul, what would you think about going to live in Lisbon? It must b..
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Charles Baudelaire |
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17612f9
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Relate comic things in pompous fashion. Irregularity, in other words the unexpected, the surprising, the astonishing, are essential to and characteristic of beauty. Two fundamental literary qualities: supernaturalism and irony. The blend of the grotesque and the tragic are attractive to the mind, as is discord to blase ears. Imagine a canvas for a lyrical, magical farce, for a pantomime, and translate it into a serious novel. Drown the whol..
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irony
poetry
writing
fantasy
grotesque
novel
writers
creativity
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Charles Baudelaire |
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187d494
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Tell me, enigmatical man, whom do you love best, your father, Your mother, your sister, or your brother? I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother. Your friends? Now you use a word whose meaning I have never known. Your country? I do not know in what latitude it lies. Beauty? I could indeed love her, Goddess and Immortal. Gold? I hate it as you hate God. Then, what do you love, extraordinary stranger?
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Charles Baudelaire |
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78a88a7
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La, tout n'est qu'ordre et beaute Luxe, calme et volupte
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Charles Baudelaire |
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THE OWLS by: Charles Baudelaire UNDER the overhanging yews, The dark owls sit in solemn state, Like stranger gods; by twos and twos Their red eyes gleam. They meditate. Motionless thus they sit and dream Until that melancholy hour When, with the sun's last fading gleam, The nightly shades assume their power. From their still attitude the wise Will learn with terror to despise All tumult, movement, and unrest; For he who follows every ..
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Charles Baudelaire |
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0c72a8e
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My love, do you recall the object which we saw, That fair, sweet, summer morn! At a turn in the path a foul carcass On a gravel strewn bed, Its legs raised in the air, like a lustful woman, Burning and dripping with poisons, Displayed in a shameless, nonchalant way Its belly, swollen with gases. -
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woman
poison
wantonness
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Charles Baudelaire |
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8ee8efe
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But what does it matter what reality is outside myself, so long as it has helped me to live, to feel that I am, and what I am?
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Charles Baudelaire |
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041e78f
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Ma jeunesse ne fut qu'un tenebreux orage, Traverse ca et la par de brillants de soleils; Le tonnerre et la pluie ont fait un tel ravage, Qu'il reste en mon jardin bien peu de fruits vermeils.
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Charles Baudelaire |
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89e2280
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Ne cherchez plus mon coeur; des monstres l'ont mange.
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Charles Baudelaire |
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f22f60e
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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.
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Charles Baudelaire |
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4cf087c
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Il etait tard; ainsi qu'une medaille neuve La pleine lune s'etalait, Et la solennite de la nuit, comme un fleuve Sur Paris dormant ruisselait.
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poetry
night
paris
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Charles Baudelaire |
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0aa3496
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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 some one 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 giv..
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Charles Baudelaire |
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da7229f
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How little remains of the man I once was, save the memory of him! But remembering is only a new form of suffering.
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Charles Baudelaire |
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b7f3bda
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It's time, Old Captain, lift anchor, sink! The land rots; we shall sail into the night; if now the sky and sea are black as ink our hearts, as you must know, are filled with light. Only when we drink poison are we well -- we want, this fire so burns our brain tissue, to drown in the abyss -- heaven or hell, who cares? Through the unknown, we'll find the new. ("Le Voyage")"
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journey
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Charles Baudelaire |
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a5063ec
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Plonger au fond du gouffre, Enfer ou Ciel, qu'importe? / Au fond de l'Inconnu pour trouver du NOUVEAU! (rough translation : Into the abyss -- Heaven or Hell, what difference does it make? / To the depths of the Unknown to find the NEW!)
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Charles Baudelaire |
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8c63808
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I walk alone, absorbed in my fantastic play, -- Fencing with rhymes, which, parrying nimbly, back away; Tripping on words, as on rough paving in the street, Or bumping into verses I long had dreamed to meet.
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words
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Charles Baudelaire |
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f9a1fa8
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Ascend beyond the sickly atmosphere to a higher plane, and purify yourself by drinking as if it were ambrosia the fire that fills and fuels Emptiness. Free from the futile strivings and the cares which dim existence to a realm of mist, happy is he who wings an upward way on mighty pinions to the fields of light; whose thoughts like larks spontaneously rise into the morning sky; whose flight, unchecked,
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Charles Baudelaire |
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f57d726
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L'orage rajeunit les fleurs
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Charles Baudelaire |