Quotations From CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

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• 101.

  It is one of the prodigious privileges of art that the horrific, artistically expressed, becomes beauty, and that sorrow, given rhythm and cadence, fills the spirit with a calm joy.

  Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet, critic. "Théophile Gautier," part IV (1859).
  
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• 102.

  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.

  Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet, critic. Samuel Cramer, in La Fanfarlo (1847), trans. 1986.
  
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• 103.

  The artist is today and has been for many years, despite his absence of merit, simply a spoiled child. So many honors, so much money bestowed on men without souls and without education.

  Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet, critic. The Salon of 1859, I. The Modern Artist (1859).
  
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• 104.

  The immense profundity of thought in vulgar locutions, like holes dug by generations of ants.

  Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet, critic. My Heart Laid Bare, I (1887).
• 105.

  Are you not the oasis where I dream, and the gourd from which I drink in long draughts the wine of memory?

  Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet, critic. Flowers of Evil, "Her Hair," (1859).
  
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• 106.

  For me, Romanticism is the most recent and the most current expression of beauty.

  Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet, critic. The Salon of 1846, II. What is Romanticism? (1846).
  
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• 107.

  Everything for me becomes allegory.

  Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet, critic. Flowers of Evil, "The Swan," (1860).
• 108.

  I have to confess that I had gambled on my soul and lost it with heroic insouciance and lightness of touch. The soul is so impalpable, so often useless, and sometimes such a nuisance, that I felt no more emotion on losing it than if, on a stroll, I had mislaid my visiting card.

  Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet. repr. In Complete Works, vol. 4, "Shorter Prose Poems," ed. Yves-Gérard le Dantec; rev. Claude Pichois (1953). "The Generous Gambler," in Figaro (Paris, Feb. 7, 1864).
  
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• 109.

  There is no more steely barb than that of the Infinite.

  Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet. Complete Works, vol. 1, "Shorter Prose Poems," ed. Gérard le Dantec; rev. Claude Pichois (1953). The Artist "Confiteor," La Presse (Paris, Aug. 26, 1862).
• 110.

  Whether you come from heaven or hell, what does it matter, O Beauty!

  Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French. Flowers of Evil, "Hymn to Beauty," (1860).
  
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