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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.
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
Dead
Autumn
Cobblestone
Hear
Afternoon
Logs
Gone
Falling
Afternoons
Fall
Shadow
Lawn
Summer
Lawns
Soon
Stunning
Cold
Plunge
Already
Shadows
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The man who says his evening prayer is a captain posting his sentinels. He can sleep.
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Even as a child I felt in my heart two opposite emotions: the horror of life and the ecstasy of life.
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What I say is that the supreme and singular joy of making love resides in the certainty of doing evil.
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Life is a hospital in which every patient is possessed by a desire to change his bed.
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How bittersweet it is, on winter's night, To listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire, As distant memories, through the fog-dimmed light, Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.
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There is a word, in a verb, something sacred which forbids us from using it recklessly. To handle a language cunningly is to practice a kind of evocative sorcery.
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Romanticism is precisely situated neither in choice of subject, nor exact truth, but in the way of feeling.
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However incoherent a human existence may be, human unity is not bothered by it.
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The unique and supreme voluptuousness of love lies in the certainty of committing evil. And men and women know from birth that in evil is found all sensual delight.
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If the word doesn't exist, invent it but first be sure it doesn't exist.
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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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Who would dare assign to art the sterile function of imitating nature?
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