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I am the vampire at my own veins.
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
Veins
Vampire
More quotes by Charles Baudelaire
There are some temptations which are so strong that they must be virtues.
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Through the Unknown, we'll find the New
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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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I felt passing over me the wind of the wing of madness.
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Passion I hate, and spirit does me wrong. Let us love gently.
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What do I care if you are good? Be beautiful! and be sad!
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Oh, Creator! Can monsters exist in the sight of him who alone knows how they were invented, how they invented themselves, and how they might not have invented themselves?
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Dancing is poetry with arms and legs.
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There are as many kinds of beauty as there are habitual ways of seeking happiness.
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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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A work of art should be like a well-planned crime.
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A child sees everything in a sense of newness - he is always drunk. Genius is nothing but childhood re-attained at will.
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Today I felt pass over me A breath of wind from the wings of madness.
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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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Delacroix was passionately in love with passion, but coldly determined to express passion as clearly as possible.
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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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Beware of all the paradoxical in love. It is simplicity which saves, it is simplicity which brings happiness...Love should be love.
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I sit in the sky like a sphinx misunderstood My heart of snow is wed to the whiteness of swans I hate the movement that displaces the rigid lines, With lips untaught neither tears nor laughter do I know.
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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.
Charles Baudelaire
Music fathoms the sky.
Charles Baudelaire
