Charles Baudelaire
Charles Baudelaire
Charles Pierre Baudelaire; April 9, 1821 – August 31, 1867) was a French poet who also produced notable work as an essayist, art critic, and pioneering translator of Edgar Allan Poe...
NationalityFrench
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth9 April 1821
CityParis, France
CountryFrance
morning flower men
Happy is the man who can with vigorous wing Mount to those luminous serene fields! The man whose thoughts, like larks, Take liberated flight toward the morning skies --Who hovers over life and understands without effort The language of flowers and voiceless things!
love acts-of-love torture
The act of love strongly resembles torture or surgery.
country men cities
Man loves man so much that when he flees the city, it is still to seek the crowd, that is, to rebuild the city in the country.
inspirational succeed weakness
There is a certain cowardice, a certain weakness, rather, among respectable folk. Only brigands are convinced-of what? That they must succeed. And so they do succeed.
art thinking people
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.
work simple years
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.
people authority adore
The People adore authority.
epic philosopher poet
Pure draughtsmen are philosophers and dialecticians. Colourists are epic poets.
drawing mind draftsman
All good and genuine draftsmen draw according to the picture inscribed in their minds, and not according to nature.
artist technique methodology
As for techniques and processes, as seen in the works themselves, neither public nor artists will find anything about them here. Those things are learned in the studio and the public is interested only in the results.
love clouds lovely
I love the clouds... the clouds that pass by... over there... over there... those lovely clouds!
flower evil come-up
Evil comes up softly like a flower.
pain ordinary alive
What is it that brings on these moods of yours? Nothing mysterious: the ordinary pain of being alive.
archer wings clouds
The poet is like the prince of clouds Who haunts the tempest and laughs at the archer; Exiled on the ground in the midst of jeers, His giant wings prevent him from walking.