...and the lamp having at last resigned itself to death. There was nothing now but firelight in the room, And every time a flame uttered a gasp for breath It flushed her amber skin with the blood of its bloom. Charles Baudelaire More Quotes by Charles Baudelaire More Quotes From Charles Baudelaire Do you remember the sight we saw, my soul, that soft summer morning round a turning in the path, the disgusting carcass on a bed scattered with stones, its legs in the air like a woman in need burning its wedding poisons like a fountain with its rhythmic sobs, I could hear it clearly flowing with a long murmuring sound, but I touch my body in vain to find the wound. I am the vampire of my own heart, one of the great outcasts condemned to eternal laughter who can no longer smile. Am I dead? I must be dead. Charles Baudelaire laughter summer morning Even when she walks one would believe that she dances. Charles Baudelaire ballet dance believe Today I felt pass over me A breath of wind from the wings of madness. Charles Baudelaire wings wind insanity 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? Charles Baudelaire sight monsters might 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. Charles Baudelaire beautiful water ideas Nature is a word, an allegory, a mold, an embossing, if you will. Charles Baudelaire allegory mold ifs How many years of fatigue and punishment it takes to learn the simple truth that work, that disagreeable thing, is the only way of not suffering in life, or at all events, of suffering less. Charles Baudelaire simple work years Nature is a temple, where the living Columns sometimes breathe confusing speech; Man walks within these groves of symbols, each Of which regards him as a kindred thing. Charles Baudelaire confusing speech men In art, there is one thing which does not receive sufficient attention. The element which is left to the human will is not nearly so large as people think. Charles Baudelaire people art thinking In our corruption we perceive beauties unrevealed to ancient times. Charles Baudelaire ancient-times ancient corruption Today I had a strange warning. I felt the wind of insanity brush my mind. Charles Baudelaire mind wind insanity Blessed art Thou, Lord, who giveth suffering As a divine remedy for our impurities. Charles Baudelaire suffering blessed art What is it that brings on these moods of yours? Charles Baudelaire pain alive ordinary The Poet is a kinsman in the clouds Who scoffs at archers, loves a stormy day; But on the ground, among the hooting crowds, He cannot walk, his wings are in the way. Charles Baudelaire archer clouds wings Both ardent lovers and austere scholars, when once they come to the years of discretion, love cats, so strong and gentle, the pride of the household, who like them are sensitive to the cold, and sedentary. Charles Baudelaire cat strong pride Who among us has not, in moments of ambition, dreamt of the miracle of a form of poetic prose, musical but without rhythm and rhyme, both supple and staccato enough to adapt itself to the lyrical movements of our souls, the undulating movements of our reveries, and the convulsive movements of our consciences? This obsessive ideal springs above all from frequent contact with enormous cities, from the junction of their innumerable connections. Charles Baudelaire ambition cities spring Alas, human vices, however horrible one might imagine them to be, contain the proof (were it only in their infinite expansion) of man's longing for the infinite; but it is a longing that often takes the wrong route. It is my belief that the reason behind all culpable excesses lies in this depravation of the sense of the infinite. Charles Baudelaire vices men lying We all have the republican spirit in our veins, like syphilis in our bones. We are democratized and venerealized. Charles Baudelaire syphilis veins government In order not to feel time's horrid fardel bruise your shoulders, grinding you into the earth, get drunk and stay that way. On what? On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever. But get drunk! Charles Baudelaire drunk wine order There is no more steely barb than that of the Infinite. Charles Baudelaire infinite infinity literature
