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And, drunk with my own madness, I shouted at him furiously, Make life beautiful! Make life beautiful!
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
Make
Life
Furiously
Shouted
Drunk
Madness
Beautiful
More quotes by Charles Baudelaire
Two fundamental literary qualities: supernaturalism and irony.
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I can barely conceive of a type of beauty in which there is no Melancholy.
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You walk on corpses, beauty, undismayed.
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I sit in the sky like a sphinx misunderstood My heart of snow is wed to the whiteness of swans I hate the movement that displaces the rigid lines, With lips untaught neither tears nor laughter do I know.
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This industry [photography], by invading the territories of art, has become art's most mortal enemy.
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My soul travels on the smell of perfume like the souls of other men on music.
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He who looks through an open window sees fewer things than he who looks through a closed window.
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It is one of the prodigious privileges of art that the horrific, artistically expressed, becomes beauty, and that sorrow, given rhythm and cadence, fills the spirit with a calm joy.
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Amer savoir, celui qu'on tire du voyage! Bitter is the knowledge gained in travelling.
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On the vaporization and the centralization of the Self. All is there.
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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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There are as many kinds of beauty as there are habitual ways of seeking happiness.
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Man loves man so much that when he flees the city, it is still to seek the crowd, that is, to rebuild the city in the country.
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Our religion is itself profoundly sad - a religion of universal anguish, and one which, because of its very catholicity, grants full liberty to the individual and asks no better than to be celebrated in each man's own language - so long as he knows anguish and is a painter.
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Let us beware of common folk, of common sense, of sentiment, of inspiration, and of the obvious.
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If the poet has pursued a moral objective, he has diminished his poetic force.
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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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Blessed art Thou, Lord, who giveth suffering As a divine remedy for our impurities.
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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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Genius is simply childhood, rediscovered by an act of will.
Charles Baudelaire
