But a dandy can never be a vulgar man
I throw fresh seeds out. Who knows what survives?
Amer savoir, celui qu'on tire du voyage! Bitter is the knowledge gained in travelling.
the Devil's hand directs our every move - / the things we loathed become the things we love
Who among us has not, in moments of ambition, dreamt of the miracle of a form of poetic prose, musical but without rhythm and rhyme, both supple and staccato enough to adapt itself to the lyrical movements of our souls, the undulating movements of our reveries, and the convulsive movements of our consciences? This obsessive ideal springs above all from frequent contact with enormous cities, from the junction of their innumerable connections.
It is from the womb of art that criticism was born.
Quand me" me Dieu n'existerait pas, la religion serait encore sainte et divineDieu est le seul e" tre qui, pour re gner, n'ait me" me pas besoin d'exister. Even if God did not exist, religion would still be holyand divine.God isthe only being who, inorder toreign, need not even exist.
That in all times, mediocrity has dominated, that is indubitable; but that it reigns more than ever, that it is becoming absolutely triumphant and inhibiting, this is what is as true as it is distressing.
Hypocrite reader my fellow my brother!
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.
Genius is nothing more or less than childhood recovered by will, a childhood how equipped for self-expression with an adult's capacities.
Being a useful man has always seemed to me to be something truly hideous.
What men call love is a very small, restricted, feeble thing compared with this ineffable orgy, this divine prostitution of the soul giving itself entire, all its poetry and all its charity, to the unexpected as it comes along, to the stranger as he passes.
What a mysterious faculty is that queen of the faculties!
I lived for a long time under vast porticos That maritime suns tinted with a thousand fires, And whose great pillars, straight and majestuous In the evening made seem like basaltic caves.
Delacroix was passionately in love with passion, but coldly determined to express passion as clearly as possible.
La volupte unique et supre" me de l'amour g|"t dans la certitude de faire le mal. The unique, supreme pleasure of love consists in the certainty of doing evil.
And over your unconsecrated head you'll hear the howling wolves lament their fate and yours the livelong year.
Alas! Man's vices, horrible as they are supposed to be, contain the positive proof of his taste for the infinite.
Unable to do away with love, the Church found a way to decontaminate it by creating marriage.
...an industry which can furnish results identical to nature must be the absolute in art.
La, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté Luxe, calme et volupté There, there is nothing else but grace and measure, Richness, quietness, and pleasure.
Two fundamental literary qualities: supernaturalism and irony.
To glorify the cult of images (my great, my only, my earliest passion).
We all have the republican spirit in our veins, like syphilis in our bones. We are democratized and venerealized.
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