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Wine transforms moles into eagles.
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
Moles
Transforms
Eagles
Wine
More quotes by Charles Baudelaire
One can only forget about time by making use of it.
Charles Baudelaire
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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Progress, this great heresy of decay.
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I think I would be happy in that place I happen not to be, and this question of moving house is the subject of a perpetual dialogue I have with my soul.
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If a given combination of trees, mountains, water, and houses, say a landscape, is beautiful, it is not so by itself, but because of me, of my favor, of the idea or feeling I attach to it.
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The poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able to be himself and others, as he wishes.
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Always be a poet, even in prose.
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Love is the natural occupation of the man of leisure.
Charles Baudelaire
What can an eternity of damnation matter to someone who has felt, if only for a second, the infinity of delight?
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All the visible universe is nothing but a shop of images and signs.
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Imagination is an almost divine faculty which, without recourse to any philosophical method, immediately perceives everything: the secret and intimate connections between things, correspondences and analogies.
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Finer than any sand are dusts of gold that gleam, Vague starpoints, in the mystic iris of their eyes.
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Life is a hospital in which every patient is possessed by a desire to change his bed.
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An artist is an artist only because of his exquisite sense of beauty, a sense which shows him intoxicating pleasures, but which at the same time implies and contains an equally exquisite sense of all deformities and all disproportion.
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the Devil's hand directs our every move - / the things we loathed become the things we 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.
Charles Baudelaire
The more a man cultivates the arts the less he fornicates. A more and more apparent cleavage occurs between the spirit and the brute.
Charles Baudelaire
The study of beauty is a duel in which the artist cries out in terror before he is defeated.
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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.
Charles Baudelaire
Who would dare assign to art the sterile function of imitating nature?
Charles Baudelaire