Charles Baudelaire

“Ant swarming CityCity full of dreamsWhere in broad day the specter tugs your sleeve”

“I set out to discover the why of it, and to transform my pleasure into knowledge.”

“The Poet is a kinsman in the cloudsWho scoffs at archers, loves a stormy day;But on the ground, among the hooting crowds,He cannot walk, his wings are in the way.”

“Nature is a temple, where the livingColumns sometimes breathe confusing speech;Man walks within these groves of symbols, eachOf which regards him as a kindred thing.”

“Le serpent qui danseQue j'aime voir, chère indolente,De ton corps si beau,Comme une étoffe vacillante,Miroiter la peau!Sur ta chevelure profondeAux acres parfums,Mer odorante et vagabondeAux flots bleus et bruns,Comme un navire qui s'éveilleAu vent du matin,Mon âme rêveuse appareillePour un ciel lointain.Tes yeux où rien ne se révèleDe doux ni d'amer,Sont deux bijoux froids où se mêlentL’or avec le fer.A te voir marcher en cadence,Belle d'abandon,On dirait un serpent qui danseAu bout d'un bâton.Sous le fardeau de ta paresseTa tête d'enfantSe balance avec la mollesseD’un jeune éléphant,Et ton corps se penche et s'allongeComme un fin vaisseauQui roule bord sur bord et plongeSes vergues dans l'eau.Comme un flot grossi par la fonteDes glaciers grondants,Quand l'eau de ta bouche remonteAu bord de tes dents,Je crois boire un vin de bohême,Amer et vainqueur,Un ciel liquide qui parsèmeD’étoiles mon coeur!”

“Be always drunken.Nothing else matters:that is the only question.If you would not feelthe horrible burden of Timeweighing on your shouldersand crushing you to the earth,be drunken continually.Drunken with what?With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you will.But be drunken.And if sometimes,on the stairs of a palace,or on the green side of a ditch,or in the dreary solitude of your own room,you should awakenand the drunkenness be half or wholly slipped away from you,ask of the wind,or of the wave,or of the star,or of the bird,or of the clock,of whatever flies,or sighs,or rocks,or sings,or speaks,ask what hour it is;and the wind,wave,star,bird,clock will answer you:"It is the hour to be drunken!”

“Dieu est le seul être qui, pour règner, n'a même pas besoin d'exister.”

“Remembering is only a new form of suffering.”

“Hypocrite reader -- my fellow -- my brother!”

“Doubt, or the absence of faith and naivete, is a vice peculiar to this age, for no one is obedient nowadays; and naivete, which means the dominance of temperament in the manner, is a gift from God, possessed by very few.”

“The insatiable thirst for everything which lies beyond, & which life reveals is the most living proof of our immortality.”

“In order not to feel time's horrid fardel bruise your shoulders, grinding you into the earth, get drunk and stay that way. On what? On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever. But get drunk!”

“In our corruption we perceive beauties unrevealed to ancient times.”

“It is the hour to be drunken! To escape being the martyred slaves of time, be ceaselessly drunk. On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as you wish.”

“A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counselor, a multitude of counselors.”

“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.”

“I am unable to understand how a man of honor could take a newspaper in his hands without a shudder of disgust.”

“The immense appetite we have for biography comes from a deep-seated sense of equality.”

“All which is beautiful and noble is the result of reason and calculation.”

“La, tout n’est qu’ordre et beautéLuxe, calme et voluptéThere, there is nothing else but grace and measure,Richness, quietness, and pleasure.”

“Plonger au fond du gouffre, Enfer ou Ciel, qu'importe? / Au fond de l'Inconnu pour trouver du NOUVEAU! (rough translation : Into the abyss -- Heaven or Hell, what difference does it make? / To the depths of the Unknown to find the NEW!)”

“Forest, I fear you! In my ruined heart your roaring wakens the same agony as in cathedrals when the organ moans and from the depths I hear that I am damned.”

“de satan ou de dieu, qu'importe! ange ou sirène,qu'importe, si tu rends -- fée aux yeux de velours,rythme, parfum, lueur, ô mon unique reine! --l'univers moins hideux et les instants moins lourds?”

“My love, do you recall the object which we saw,That fair, sweet, summer morn!At a turn in the path a foul carcassOn a gravel strewn bed,Its legs raised in the air, like a lustful woman,Burning and dripping with poisons,Displayed in a shameless, nonchalant wayIts belly, swollen with gases.- A Carcass”

“THE OWLSby: Charles BaudelaireUNDER the overhanging yews,The dark owls sit in solemn state,Like stranger gods; by twos and twosTheir red eyes gleam. They meditate. Motionless thus they sit and dreamUntil that melancholy hourWhen, with the sun's last fading gleam,The nightly shades assume their power. From their still attitude the wiseWill learn with terror to despiseAll tumult, movement, and unrest; For he who follows every shade,Carries the memory in his breast,Of each unhappy journey made.'The Owls' is reprinted from The Poems and Prose Poems of Charles Baudelaire. Ed. James Huneker. New York: Brentano's, 1919.”

“Always be a poet, even in prose.”

“La plus belle des ruses du diable est de vous persuader qu'il n'existe pas."("The devil's finest trick is to persuade you that he does not exist.")”