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It is one of the prodigious privileges of art that the horrific, artistically expressed, becomes beauty, and that sorrow, given rhythm and cadence, fills the spirit with a calm joy.
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
Spirit
Privilege
Artistically
Art
Calm
Prodigious
Sorrow
Cadence
Joy
Horrific
Becomes
Privileges
Beauty
Fills
Artist
Expressed
Given
Rhythm
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The more a man cultivates the arts the less he fornicates. A more and more apparent cleavage occurs between the spirit and the brute.
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To handle a language skillfully is to practice a kind of evocative sorcery.
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There are as many kinds of beauty as there are habitual ways of seeking happiness.
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The People adore authority.
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To be just, that is to say, to justify its existence, criticism should be partial, passionate and political, that is to say, written from an exclusive point of view, but a point of view that opens up the widest horizons.
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Our squalid society rushed, Narcissus to a man, to gaze on its trivial image on a scrap of metal.
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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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The world only goes round by misunderstanding.
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Today I felt pass over me A breath of wind from the wings of madness.
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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.
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Soon we will plunge ourselves into cold shadows, and all of summer's stunning afternoons will be gone. I already hear the dead thuds of logs below falling on the cobblestones and the lawn.
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Everything for me becomes allegory
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On the vaporization and the centralization of the Self. All is there.
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My soul travels on the smell of perfume like the souls of other men on music.
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Nations, like families, have great men only in spite of themselves. They do everything in their power not to have any. And therefore, the great man, in order to exist, must possess a force of attack which is greater than the force of resistance developed by millions of people.
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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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A book is a garden, a party, a company by the way.
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Photographers, you will never become artists. All you are is mere copiers.
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Inspiration comes of working every day.
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Love is the natural occupation of the man of leisure.
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