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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.
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
Going
Pay
People
Asks
Attention
Punctilious
Funny
Briefcases
Business
Wallets
Littles
Dogs
Little
Notes
Without
Dog
More quotes by Charles Baudelaire
Art is an infinitely precious good, a draught both refreshing and cheering which restores the stomach and the mind to the natural equilibrium of the ideal.
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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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To the solemn graves, near a lonely cemetery, my heart like a muffled drum is beating funeral marches.
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It is from the womb of art that criticism was born.
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Genius is simply childhood, rediscovered by an act of will.
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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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The more delicate and ambitious the soul, the further do dreams estrange it from possible things.
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Il faut travailler sinon par go u t, au moins par de sespoir, puisque, tout bien ve rifie , travailler est moins ennuyeux que s'amuser. We should work: if not by preference, at least out of despair. All things considered, work is less boring than amusement.
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In our corruption we perceive beauties unrevealed to ancient times.
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The People adore authority.
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The immense profundity of thought in vulgar locutions, like holes dug by generations of ants.
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Remembering is only a new form of suffering.
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I felt passing over me the wind of the wing of madness.
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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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Our religion is itself profoundly sad - a religion of universal anguish, and one which, because of its very catholicity, grants full liberty to the individual and asks no better than to be celebrated in each man's own language - so long as he knows anguish and is a painter.
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To glorify the cult of images (my great, my only, my earliest passion).
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Man loves man so much that when he flees the city, it is still to seek the crowd, that is, to rebuild the city in the country.
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Always be drunk ... Get drunk militantly. Just get drunk.
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Everything that is beautiful and noble is the product of reason and calculation.
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If photography is allowed to supplement art in some of its functions, it will soon have supplanted or corrupted it altogether, thanks to the stupidity of the multitude which is its natural ally.
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