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I felt passing over me the wind of the wing of madness.
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
Translator
Writer
Paris
France
Baudelaire
Charles Pierre Baudelaire-Dufaÿs
Charles Pierre Baudelaire
Wing
Madness
Passing
Wings
Wind
Felt
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Our squalid society rushed, Narcissus to a man, to gaze on its trivial image on a scrap of metal.
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I am the vampire at my own veins.
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Beauty is the sole ambition, the exclusive goal of Taste.
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Delacroix was passionately in love with passion, but coldly determined to express passion as clearly as possible.
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I should like the fields tinged with red, the rivers yellow and the trees painted blue. Nature has no imagination.
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And, drunk with my own madness, I shouted at him furiously, Make life beautiful! Make life beautiful!
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When it meows, one scarcely hears it... It has not the need of words to speak the lengthiest phraseologies.
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The study of beauty is a duel in which the artist cries out in terror before he is defeated.
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This industry [photography], by invading the territories of art, has become art's most mortal enemy.
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Genius is nothing more nor less than childhood recaptured at will.
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Anybody, providing he knows how to be amusing, has the right to talk about himself.
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The People adore authority.
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The beautiful is always bizarre.
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Where ever I am not is the place where I am myself.
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