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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.
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
Life
Cities
Open
Stroll
Eyes
Swarms
Eye
Phenomena
Find
Monsters
Need
Innocent
Great
City
Needs
Strange
More quotes by Charles Baudelaire
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The more delicate and ambitious the soul, the further do dreams estrange it from possible things.
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I am the wound and the knife! I am the slap and the cheek! I am the limbs and the rack, And the victim and the executioner! I am the vampire of my own heart.
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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.
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Everything, alas, is an abyss, actions, desires, dreams, words!
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Unable to suppress love, the Church wanted at least to disinfect it, and it created marriage.
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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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The life of our city is rich in poetic and marvelous subjects. We are enveloped and steeped as though in an atmosphere of the marvelous but we do not notice it.
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A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counselor, a multitude of counselors.
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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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You walk on corpses, beauty, undismayed.
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That in all times, mediocrity has dominated, that is indubitable but that it reigns more than ever, that it is becoming absolutely triumphant and inhibiting, this is what is as true as it is distressing.
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I am the vampire at my own veins.
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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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Everything for me becomes allegory
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