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Finer than any sand are dusts of gold that gleam, Vague starpoints, in the mystic iris of their eyes.
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
Dust
Iris
Gold
Irises
Eyes
Finer
Eye
Gleam
Mystic
Vague
Sand
Cat
Dusts
More quotes by Charles Baudelaire
I have cultivated my hysteria with delight and terror. Now I suffer continually from vertigo, and today, 23rd of January, 1862, I have received a singular warning, I have felt the wind of the wing of madness pass over me.
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Two fundamental literary qualities: supernaturalism and irony.
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The habit of doing one's duty drives away fear.
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Evil comes up softly like a flower.
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The poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able to be himself and others, as he wishes.
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The dandy should aspire to be uninterruptedly sublime. He should live and sleep in front of a mirror.
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Where are the dogs going? you people who pay so little attention ask. They are going about their business. And they are very punctilious, without wallets, notes, and without briefcases.
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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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As a remedy against all ills - poverty, sickness, and melancholy - only one thing is absolutely necessary: a liking for work
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A book is a garden, a party, a company by the way.
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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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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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Wine transforms moles into eagles.
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It would perhaps be nice to be alternately the victim and the executioner.
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A man who drinks only water has a secret to hide from his fellow men.
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Hashish will be, indeed, for the impressions and familiar thoughts of the man, a mirror which magnifies, yet no more than a mirror.
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Every healthy man can do without food for two days — but without poetry, never!
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A friend of mine, the most innocuous dreamer who ever lived, once set a forest on fire to see, as he said, if it would catch as easily as people said. The first ten times the experiment was a failure but on the eleventh it succeeded all too well.
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You walk on corpses, beauty, undismayed.
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Where ever I am not is the place where I am myself.
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