To handle a language skillfully is to practice a kind of evocative sorcery.

Charles Baudelaire

Tag: language baudelaire



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حين كنت طفلاً، أحسستُ في قلبي إحساسين متعارضين: رعبًا من الحياة ونشوة بالحياة...

Charles Baudelaire


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Music fathoms the sky.

Charles Baudelaire

Tag: music



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The Beautiful is always strange.

Charles Baudelaire

Tag: art strange beautiful



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The study of beauty is a duel in which the artist cries out in terror before being vanquished.

Charles Baudelaire

Tag: art beauty artist



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Strangeness is a necessary ingredient in beauty.

Charles Baudelaire

Tag: beauty strangeness



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I have felt the wind on the wing of madness.

Charles Baudelaire

Tag: insanity madness



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Tell me, enigmatical man, whom do you love best, your father,
Your mother, your sister, or your brother?
I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother.
Your friends?
Now you use a word whose meaning I have never known.
Your country?
I do not know in what latitude it lies.
Beauty?
I could indeed love her, Goddess and Immortal.
Gold?
I hate it as you hate God.
Then, what do you love, extraordinary stranger?
I love the clouds the clouds that pass up there
Up there the wonderful clouds!

Charles Baudelaire

Tag: poetry



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Genius is nothing more nor less than childhood recaptured at will.

Charles Baudelaire

Tag: genius



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You shall suffer for ever the influence of my kiss. You shall be beautiful in my fashion. You shall love that which I love and that which loves me: water, clouds, silence and the night; the immense green sea; the formless and multiform streams; the place where you shall not be; the lover whom you shall not know; flowers of monstrous shape; perfumes that cause delirium; cats that shudder, swoon and curl up on pianos and groan like women, with a voice that is hoarse and gentle! And you shall be loved by my lovers, courted by my courtiers. You shall be the queen of all men that have green eyes, whose necks also I have clasped in my nocturnal caresses; of those who love the sea, the sea that is immense, tumultuous and green, the formless and multiform streams, the place where they are not, the woman whom they do not know, sinister flowers that resemble the censers of a strange religion, perfumes that confound the will; and the savage and voluptuous animals which are the emblems of their dementia.

Charles Baudelaire


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