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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
Eyes
Finer
Eye
Gleam
Mystic
Vague
Sand
Cat
Dusts
Dust
Iris
Gold
Irises
More quotes by Charles Baudelaire
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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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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Life swarms with innocent monsters.
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I love Wagner, but the music I prefer is that of a cat hung up by its tail outside a window and trying to stick to the panes of glass with its claws.
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Quand me me Dieu n'existerait pas, la religion serait encore sainte et divineDieu est le seul e tre qui, pour re gner, n'ait me me pas besoin d'exister. Even if God did not exist, religion would still be holyand divine.God isthe only being who, inorder toreign, need not even exist.
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The devil's finest trick is to persuade you that he does not exist.
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The will to work must dominate, for art is long and time is brief.
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There is no more steely barb than that of the Infinite.
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There are but three beings worthy of respect: the priest, the warrior and the poet. To know, to kill and to create. The rest of mankind may be taxed and drudged, they are born for the stable, that is to say, to practise what they call professions.
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Who among us has not dreamt, in moments of ambition, of the miracle of a poetic prose, musical without rhythm and rhyme, supple and staccato enough to adapt to the lyrical stirrings of the soul, the undulations of dreams, and sudden leaps of consciousness.
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However incoherent a human existence may be, human unity is not bothered by it.
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Evil comes up softly like a flower.
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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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La' , tout n'est qu'ordre et beaute , Luxe, calme et volupte . There where all is order and beauty. Lush, calm and voluptuous.
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I can barely conceive of a type of beauty in which there is no Melancholy.
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Love is the natural occupation of the man of leisure.
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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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Remembering is only a new form of suffering.
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It is from the womb of art that criticism was born.
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Who would dare assign to art the sterile function of imitating nature?
Charles Baudelaire
