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Who would dare assign to art the sterile function of imitating nature?
Charles Baudelaire
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Charles Baudelaire
Age: 46 †
Born: 1821
Born: April 9
Died: 1867
Died: August 30
Art Critic
Author
Essayist
Literary Critic
Poet
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Writer
Paris
France
Baudelaire
Charles Pierre Baudelaire-Dufaÿs
Charles Pierre Baudelaire
Nature
Would
Assign
Sterile
Imitating
Dare
Function
Literature
Art
More quotes by Charles Baudelaire
However incoherent a human existence may be, human unity is not bothered by it.
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It would be difficult for me not to conclude that the most perfect type of masculine beauty is Satan, as portrayed by Milton.
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The more a man cultivates the arts the less he fornicates. A more and more apparent cleavage occurs between the spirit and the brute.
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Here comes the time when, vibrating on its stem, every flower fumes like a censer noises and perfumes circle in the evening air.
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The form of a town changes more swiftly alas! Than the heart of a mortal.
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As a remedy against all ills - poverty, sickness, and melancholy - only one thing is absolutely necessary: a liking for work
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Always be a poet, even in prose.
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Dancing can reveal all the mystery that music conceals.
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Soon we will plunge ourselves into cold shadows, and all of summer's stunning afternoons will be gone. I already hear the dead thuds of logs below falling on the cobblestones and the lawn.
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One must work, if not from inclination, at least out of despair — since it proves, on close examination, that work is less boring than amusing oneself.
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As the end of the century approaches, all our culture is like flies at the beginning of winter. Having lost their agility, dreamy and demented, they turn slowly about the window in the first icy mists of morning, . . . [then] they fall down the curtains.
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I have more memories than if I were a thousand years old.
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Wine transforms moles into eagles.
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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.
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Any man who does not accept the conditions of life sells his soul.
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A man who drinks only water has a secret to hide from his fellow men.
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Where ever I am not is the place where I am myself.
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What strange phenomena we find in a great city, all we need do is stroll about with our eyes open. Life swarms with innocent monsters.
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I think I would be happy in that place I happen not to be, and this question of moving house is the subject of a perpetual dialogue I have with my soul.
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I have to confess that I had gambled on my soul and lost it with heroic insouciance and lightness of touch. The soul is so impalpable, so often useless, and sometimes such a nuisance, that I felt no more emotion on losing it than if, on a stroll, I had mislaid my visiting card.
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