I sit in the sky like a sphinx misunderstood; My heart of snow is wed to the whiteness of swans; I hate the movement that displaces the rigid lines, With lips untaught neither tears nor laughter do I know.

Charles Baudelaire

Tags: beauty charles-baudelaire the-flowers-of-evil



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As a small child, I felt in my heart two contradictory feelings, the horror of life and the ecstasy of life.

Charles Baudelaire

Tags: paradox wonder



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the Devil's hand directs our every move - / the things we loathed become the things we love

Charles Baudelaire


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I know that pain is the one nobility / upon which Hell itself cannot encroach

Charles Baudelaire


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Fruit free of any bruises, not yet broken open, / With flesh so firm and smooth, it cried out to be eaten!

Charles Baudelaire


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What men call love is a very small, restricted, feeble thing compared with this ineffable orgy, this divine prostitution of the soul giving itself entire, all its poetry and all its charity, to the unexpected as it comes along, to the stranger as he passes.

Charles Baudelaire


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With heart at rest I climbed the citadel's
Steep height, and saw the city as from a tower,
Hospital, brothel, prison, and such hells,

Where evil comes up softly like a flower.
Thou knowest, O Satan, patron of my pain,
Not for vain tears I went up at that hour;

But like an old sad faithful lecher, fain
To drink delight of that enormous trull
Whose hellish beauty makes me young again.

Whether thou sleep, with heavy vapors full,
Sodden with day, or, new appareled, stand
In gold-laced veils of evening beautiful,

I love thee, infamous city! Harlots and
Hunted have pleasures of their own to give,
The vulgar herd can never understand.

Charles Baudelaire


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It always seems to me that I should feel well in the place where I am not.

Charles Baudelaire


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Le Poëte est semblable au prince des nuées
Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer;
Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées,
Ses ailes de géant l'empêchent de marcher.

Charles Baudelaire

Tags: poets poet



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The beautiful is always bizarre.

Charles Baudelaire

Tags: life art beauty baudelaire



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