“Always be a poet, even in prose.”
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Author detail
Charles Pierre Baudelaire was a nineteenth-century French poet, critic, and translator. A controversial figure in his lifetime, Baudelaire's name has become a byword for literary and artistic decadence. At the same time his works, in particular his book of poetry Les fleurs du mal (The Flowers of Evil), have been acknowledged as classics of French literature. ([Source][1].) [1]: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Baudelaire
Quotes
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“Always be a poet, even in prose.”
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“He who doesn't accept the conditions of life sells his soul.”
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“What is irritating about love is that it is a crime that requires an accomplice.”
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“In putting off what one has to do, one runs the risk of never being able to do it.”
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“A multitude of small delights constitute happiness.”
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“The man who says his prayers in the evening is a captain posting his sentries. After that, he can sleep.”
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“Nothing can be done except little by little.”
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“Everything considered, work is less boring than amusing oneself.”
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“As a remedy against all ills - poverty, sickness, and melanchol - only one thing is absolutely necessary: a liking for work.”
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“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.”
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“I have cultivated my hysteria with joy and terror.”
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“The beautiful is always bizarre.”
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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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“Life has but one true charm: the charm of the game. But what if we’re indifferent to whether we win or lose?”
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“Inspiration comes of working every day.”
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“L'étude du beau est un duel où l'artiste crie de frayeur avant d'être vaincu.”
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“On peut chercher dans Dieu le complice et l'ami qui manquent toujours. Dieu est l'éternel confident dans cette tragédie dont chacun est le héros.”
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“One should always be drunk. That's all that matters...But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.”
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“My heart is lost; the beasts have eaten it.”
“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 ne...”
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