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Today I felt pass over me A breath of wind from the wings of madness.
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
Today
Insanity
Breath
Breaths
Madness
Wings
Pass
Wind
Felt
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It is unfortunately very true that, without leisure and money, love can be no more than an orgy of the common man. Instead of being a sudden impulse full of ardor and reverie, it becomes a distastefully utilitarian affair.
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The will to work must dominate, for art is long and time is brief.
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To handle a language skillfully is to practice a kind of evocative sorcery.
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...an industry which can furnish results identical to nature must be the absolute in art.
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To the solemn graves, near a lonely cemetery, my heart like a muffled drum is beating funeral marches.
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I am bored in France because everyone resembles Voltaire.
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There is a certain cowardice, a certain weakness, rather, among respectable folk. Only brigands are convinced-of what? That they must succeed. And so they do succeed.
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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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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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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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Ne cherchez plus mon coeur les be tes l'ont mange . Don't search any further for my heart wild beasts ate it.
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Love is the natural occupation of the man of leisure.
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It is by universal misunderstanding that all agree. For if, by ill luck, people understood each other, they would never agree.
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Color... thinks by itself, independently of the object it clothes.
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I will drop into your chest like a vegetal ambrosia. I will be the grain that regenerates the cruelly plowed furrow. Poetry will be born of our intimate union. A god we shall create together, and we shall soar heavenward like sunbeams, perfumes, butterflies, birds, and all winged things.
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Anybody, providing he knows how to be amusing, has the right to talk about himself.
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There is no more steely barb than that of the Infinite.
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