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In this horror of solitude, this need to lose his ego in exterior flesh, which man calls grandly the need for love.
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
Horror
Poetry
Lose
Grandly
Loses
Exterior
Need
Calls
Needs
Ego
Men
Solitude
Love
Flesh
More quotes by Charles Baudelaire
Every healthy man can do without food for two days — but without poetry, never!
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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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When it meows, one scarcely hears it... It has not the need of words to speak the lengthiest phraseologies.
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By nature, by necessity itself, [primitive man] is encyclopedic, while civilized man finds himself confined in the infinitely small regions of specialization.
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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.
Charles Baudelaire
A silent mouth is sweet to hear.
Charles Baudelaire
It would be difficult for me not to conclude that the most perfect type of masculine beauty is Satan, as portrayed by Milton.
Charles Baudelaire
A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counselor, a multitude of counselors.
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The dance can reveal everything mysterious that is hidden in music, and it has the additional merit of being human and palpable. Dancing is poetry with arms and legs.
Charles Baudelaire
There are in every man, always, two simultaneous allegiances, one to God, the other to Satan. Invocation of God, or Spirituality, is a desire to climb higher that of Satan, or animality, is delight in descent.
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On the vaporization and the centralization of the Self. All is there.
Charles Baudelaire
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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Let us beware of common folk, of common sense, of sentiment, of inspiration, and of the obvious.
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Blessed art Thou, Lord, who giveth suffering As a divine remedy for our impurities.
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It is time to get drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of Time, get drunk get drunk without stopping! On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as you wish.
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Today I felt pass over me A breath of wind from the wings of madness.
Charles Baudelaire
This life is a hospital where every patient is possessed with the desire to change beds one man would like to suffer in front of the stove, and another believes that he would recover his health beside the window.
Charles Baudelaire
Who would dare assign to art the sterile function of imitating nature?
Charles Baudelaire
The world only goes round by misunderstanding.
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The immense profundity of thought in vulgar locutions, like holes dug by generations of ants.
Charles Baudelaire