125 ordspråk av Charles Baudelaire

Charles Baudelaire

Charles Baudelaire

Charles Baudelaire föddes den 9 april 1821 och dog den 31 august 1867 - fransk författare med pessimistisk livssyn.
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I have more memories than if I were a thousand years old.

There are as many kinds of beauty as there are habitual ways of seeking happiness.

If photography is allowed to stand in for art in some of its functions it will soon supplant or corrupt it completely thanks to the natural support it will find in the stupidity of the multitude. It must return to its real task, which is to be the servant of the sciences and the arts, but the very humble servant, like printing and shorthand which have neither created nor supplanted literature.

Those men get along best with women who can get along best without them.

A frenzied passion for art is a canker that devours everything else.

The man who says his evening prayer is a captain posting his sentinels. He can sleep.

There exist only three beings worthy of respect: the priest, the soldier, the poet. To know, to kill, to create.

Alas, human vices, however horrible one might imagine them to be, contain the proof (were it only in their infinite expansion) of man's longing for the infinite; but it is a longing that often takes the wrong route. It is my belief that the reason behind all culpable excesses lies in this depravation of the sense of the infinite.

In putting off what one has to do, one runs the risk of never being able to do it.

Nothing can be done except little by little.

Every idea is endowed of itself with immortal life, like a human being. All created form, even that which is created by man, is immortal. For form is independent of matter: molecules do not constitute form.

There are in every man, at every hour, two simultaneous postulations, one towards God, the other towards Satan

The cannon thunders - limbs fly in all directions - one can hear the groans of victims and the howling of those performing the sacrifice - it's Humanity in search of happiness

The pleasure of being in crowds is a mysterious expression of sensual joy in the multiplication of Number

Any man who does not accept the conditions of human life sells his soul.

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