Quotes from Charles Baudelaire

Más de una joya duerme amortajada En las tinieblas y el olvido, Muy lejos de azadones y de sondas; Más de una flor despliega con pesar Su perfume dulce como un secreto En las soledades profundas.

Para levantar un peso tan abrumador, Sísifo, sería menester tu coraje!

The artist, the true artist, the true poet, should paint only in accordance with what he sees or feels. He must be really faithful to his own nature. He must avoid, like death itself, the temptation of borrowing the eyes or feelings of another man, however great, for in that case the production he gave us would be a pack of lies, relatively to himself, not realities.

Yo sé que el dolor es la nobleza única

Celui dont les pensers, comme des alouettes, Vers les cieux le matin prennent un libre essor, — Qui plane sur la vie, et comprend sans effort Le langage des fleurs et des choses muettes !

Her Hair O tumble to the collarbone, O fleece, O locks, O fragrance full of "I don't care," what ecstasy! To stuff a gloomy place with all I know is rife within this mass, I'll shake it like a kerchief in the air.

Many a jewel lies buried In darkness and oblivion, Far, far away from picks and drills;  Many a flower regretfully Exhales perfume soft as secrets In a profound solitude.

Take it easy, Sadness. Settle down.

Ton mensonge m'enivre, et mon âme s'abreuve Aux flots que la Douleur fait jaillir de tes yeux!

The mental Heaven's inaccessible blue, For wearied mortals that still dream and mourn, Expands and sinks; towards the chasm drawn.

Impassive clock! Terrifying, sinister god, Whose finger threatens us and says: Remember!

The child sees everything in a state of newness; he is always drunk. Nothing more resembles what we call inspiration than the delight with which a small child absorbs form and colour. Genius is nothing more nor less than childhood recovered at will - a childhood now equipped for self-expression with manhood's capacities and a power of analysis which enables it to order the mass of raw material which it has involuntarily accumulated.

I love you as I love nocturnal skies . . . I love you as I love nocturnal skies, O grandiose reserve, O tear-filled vase.° Attractive one, midnight accessory, I love you more the more you run from me, the more mockingly you expand the breach between the big blue and my farthest reach. I rush you, climb you, outrage you as if I were a choir of worms, and you, a stiff. Implacable, cruel creature, I adore your chill—it makes you even lovelier.

La Nature est un temple où de vivants piliers Laissent parfois sortir de confuses paroles ; L'homme y passe à travers des forêts de symboles Qui l'observent avec des regards familiers.

Car je ne puis trouver parmi ces pâles roses Une fleur qui ressemble à mon rouge idéal.

Minutes, blithesome mortal, are bits of ore That you must not release without extracting the gold!  Remember, Time is a greedy player Who wins without cheating, every round! It's the law. The daylight wanes; the night deepens; remember! The abyss thirsts always; the water-clock runs low.  Soon will sound the hour when divine Chance, When august Virtue, your still virgin wife, When even Repentance (the very last of inns!), When all will say: Die, old coward! it is too late!

Tout homme qui n'accepte pas les conditions de la vie, vend son âme.

Dandy'nin güzelliÄŸi, özellikle, hiçbir ÅŸeyden heyecanlanmamaya kesin kararl? olmaktan ileri gelen soÄŸuk görünüÅŸte yatar; bulunmuÅŸ bir ateÅŸ diyebilirsiniz buna, gizli bir ateÅŸ, ???k saçabilecekken saçmak istemeyen...

Rather than implore a tear of the world, Alive, I'd invite the crows To bleed my tainted carcass.

Yes! thus will you be, queen of the Graces, After the last sacraments, When you go beneath grass and luxuriant flowers, To molder among the bones of the dead.  Then, O my beauty! say to the worms who will Devour you with kisses, That I have kept the form and the divine essence Of my decomposed love!

Now is the time to get drunk! To stop being the martyred slaves of time, to get absolutely drunk - on wine, poetry, or on virtue, as you please.

My heart is a palace pillaged by the herd; They kill and take each other by the throat!

They have the divine eyes of little girls Who are amazed and laugh at everything that gleams.

And the least stupid, fleeing the herd where fate has penned them fast, take refuge in the wards of opium, so much for what is news around the world.