My love, do you recall the object which we saw, That fair, sweet, summer morn! At a turn in the path a… — Charles Baudelaire Copy Share Image
Do you remember the sight we saw, my soul, that soft summer morning round a turning in the path, the disgusting carcass… — Charles Baudelaire Copy Share Image
I love to watch the fine mist of the night come on, The windows and the stars illumined, one by one, The… — Charles Baudelaire Copy Share Image
I watch the springs, the summers, the autumns; And when comes the winter snow monotonous, I shut all the doors and shutters… — Charles Baudelaire Copy Share Image
Soon we will plunge ourselves into cold shadows, and all of summer's stunning afternoons will be gone. I already hear the dead… — Charles Baudelaire Copy Share Image
Who would dare assign to art the sterile function of imitating nature? — Charles Baudelaire Copy Share Image
“The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist”—Charles Baudelaire “The second greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was… — Charles Baudelaire Copy Share Image
“This life is a hospital in which each patient is possessed by the desire to change beds. One wants to suffer in front of… — Charles Baudelaire Copy Share Image
There is no such thing as a long piece of work, except one that you dare not start. — Charles Baudelaire Copy Share Image
Our religion is itself profoundly sad - a religion of universal anguish, and one which, because of its very catholicity, grants full liberty to… — Charles Baudelaire Copy Share Image
But the true voyagers are only those who leave Just to be leaving; hearts light, like balloons, They never turn aside from their fatality… — Charles Baudelaire Copy Share Image
Amer savoir, celui qu'on tire du voyage! Bitter is the knowledge gained in travelling. — Charles Baudelaire Copy Share Image
“I can barely conceive a type of beauty in which there is no melancholy.” — Charles Baudelaire Copy Share Image
The vices of man, as full of horror as one might suppose them to be, contain the proof (if in nothing else but their… — Charles Baudelaire Copy Share Image
Multitude, solitude: equal and interchangeable terms for the active and prolific poet. — Charles Baudelaire Copy Share Image
Any healthy man can go without food for two days - but not without poetry. — Charles Baudelaire Copy Share Image
