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Life swarms with innocent monsters.
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
Swarms
Monsters
Innocent
Life
More quotes by Charles Baudelaire
Our squalid society rushed, Narcissus to a man, to gaze on its trivial image on a scrap of metal.
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Everything, alas, is an abyss, actions, desires, dreams, words!
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You walk on corpses, beauty, undismayed.
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Passion I hate, and spirit does me wrong. Let us love gently.
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Pure draughtsmen are philosophers and dialecticians. Colourists are epic poets.
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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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Color... thinks by itself, independently of the object it clothes.
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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 beautiful is always bizarre.
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Nothing in a portrait is a matter of indifference. Gesture, grimace, clothing, decor even - all must combine to realize a character.
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Evil comes up softly like a flower.
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I felt passing over me the wind of the wing of madness.
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What men call love is a very small, restricted, feeble thing compared with this ineffable orgy, this divine prostitution of the soul giving itself entire, all its poetry and all its charity, to the unexpected as it comes along, to the stranger as he passes.
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In literature as in ethics, there is danger, as well as glory, in being subtle. Aristocracy isolates us.
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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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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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Doubt, or the absence of faith and naivete, is a vice peculiar to this age, for no one is obedient nowadays and naivete, which means the dominance of temperament in the manner, is a gift from God, possessed by very few.
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What strange phenomena we find in a great city, all we need do is stroll about with our eyes open. Life swarms with innocent monsters.
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With wine, poetry, or virtue as you choose. But get drunk.
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The immense profundity of thought in vulgar locutions, like holes dug by generations of ants.
Charles Baudelaire