French - Poet | April 9, 1821 - August 31, 1867
What is art? Prostitution.
Charles Baudelaire
Art
There is no dream of love, however ideal it may be, which does not end up with a fat, greedy baby hanging from the breast.
LoveBabyEndFatDreamGreedy
Any newspaper, from the first line to the last, is nothing but a web of horrors, I cannot understand how an innocent hand can touch a newspaper without convulsing in disgust.
InnocentNothingUnderstandHand
Modernity signifies the transitory, the fugitive, the contingent, the half of art of which the other half is the eternal and the immutable.
ArtHalfModernityEternalFugitive
Modernity is the transient, the fleeting, the contingent; it is one half of art, the other being the eternal and the immovable.
ArtFleetingHalfBeingModernity
Even in the centuries which appear to us to be the most monstrous and foolish, the immortal appetite for beauty has always found satisfaction.
BeautySatisfactionAlwaysFoolish
I have cultivated my hysteria with pleasure and terror.
PleasureHysteriaTerrorCultivated
The lover of life makes the whole world into his family, just as the lover of the fair sex creates his from all the lovely women he has found, from those that could be found, and those who are impossible to find.
LifeFamilyWomenWorldImpossible
There is no such thing as a long piece of work, except one that you dare not start.
WorkStartLongYouDarePiece
The priest is an immense being because he makes the crowd believe astonishing things.
BelieveThingsBeingCrowdPriest
I love Wagner, but the music I prefer is that of a cat hung up by its tail outside a window and trying to stick to the panes of glass with its claws.
LoveMusicWindowTryingGlassCat
Always be a poet, even in prose.
PoetryAlwaysPoetEvenProse
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