Quotes About Baudelaire

One man illumines you with his other sets in you his sorrow.

A soul is a thing so impalpable, so often useless and sometimes such a nuisance, that the loss of it disturbed me less than if I had lost my visiting card while taking a walk.

The mixture of the grotesque and the tragic is agreeable to the spirit, as are discords to the jaded ear.

Who in the face of love dares speak to me of Hell! - Condemned Women: Delphine and Hippolyta

Nature can counsel nothing but crime.

drunk on my own madness, I cried furiously, "Make life beautiful! Make life beautiful!

Patent symbols, perfect picture Of an irremediable fate Which makes one think that the Devil Always does well whatever he does!

In love with pleasure to the point of cruelty, See! I drag along also! but, more dazed than they, I say: What do they seek in Heaven, all those blind?

Toute phrase doit être en soi un monument bien coordonné, l'ensemble de tous ces monuments formant la ville qui est le Livre.

The names of Diderot and Baudelaire were coupled. Neither academic nor spouting the jargon of the usual critic, the Salons of Baudelaire are the production of a humanist.

Noir assassin de la Vie et de l'Art, Tu ne tueras jamais dans ma mémoire Celle qui fut mon plaisir et ma gloire !

The uncle ignored Gracie's father. 'In any event,' he went on, 'when brewers combine hops with yeast and grain and water, and allow the mixture to ferment -- to rot -- it magically produces an elixir so gassy with blue-collar cheer, so regal with glints of gold, so titillating with potential mischief, so triumphantly refreshing, that it seizes the soul and thrusts it toward that ethereal plateau where, to paraphrase Baudelaire, all human whimsies float and merge.

Je le sais désormais, en tant que lecteur, il faut faire confiance à l'auteur, au poète. Ils savent comment s'y prendre pour nous extirper de notre vie ordinaire et nous envoyer tanguer dans un autre monde dont nous n'avions même pas soupçonné l'existence. C'est ce que font les auteurs de talent. C'est ce que me fit M. Baudelaire.

You don't even have a cat or a dog or anything? You think I should? George asks, a bit aggressive. The poor old guy doesn't have anything to love, he thinks Kenny is thinking. Hell, no! Didn't Baudelaire say they're liable to turn into demons and take over your life?

Chalmers, thanks to Baudelaire, knew all about Taffreuse Juive, opium, absinthe, negresses, Lesbos and the metamorphoses of the vampire ... Needless to say, Chalmers and myself were both virgins, in every possible meaning of the word.

then he looked at my T-shirt and saw Byron's picture on it and he quoted She Walks in Beauty, which is like my favorite poem next to the one by Baudelaire about his girlfriend being nothing but worm food, except that Lily called that one first because Baudelaire is her fave poet and so she got the shirt with him on it, even though Byron is way more scrumptious and I would do him on sharp gravel if I had the chance. --from The Chronicles of Abby Normal

Isabelle knew the volume. Les Fleurs du mal. The Flowers of Evil. It was the book they used to signal a meeting. "I am looking for something else by this author," Anouk said, exhaling smoke. "I am sorry, Madame. I have no more Baudelaire. Some Verlaine, perhaps? Or Rimbaud?

poetry returns to us from the depths of a wounded psyche, no longer in harmony with the world—and following this road we will meet up with Baudelaire and much of modern poetry.

To say the word Romanticism is to say modern art -- that is, intimacy, spirituality, color, aspiration towards the infinite, expressed by every means available to the arts.

What is intoxicating about bad taste is the aristocratic pleasure of offensiveness.

To love intelligent women is the pleasure of a pederast.

A precious liquid, a poison dearer than that of the Borgias — because it is made from our blood, our health, our sleep, and two-thirds of our love — we must be stingy with it.

At university, I had been obsessed with reading about the lives of Rimbaud and Baudelaire, and I was steeped in the crazy poets, and I came to view my early subjects through that prism.

Get out of my way, you cakesniffers!" said a rude, violent, and filthy little girl, shoving the Baudelaire orphans aside as she dashed by.