Nature… is nothing but the inner voice of self-interest. – Charles Baudelaire
Modernity is the transient, the fleeting, the contingent it is one half of art, the other being the eternal and the immovable. – Charles Baudelaire
Nature… is nothing but the inner voice of self-interest. – Charles Baudelaire
Modernity is the transient, the fleeting, the contingent it is one half of art, the other being the eternal and the immovable. – Charles Baudelaire
I am unable to understand how a man of honor could take a newspaper in his hands without a shudder of disgust. – Charles Baudelaire
I can barely conceive of a type of beauty in which there is no Melancholy. – Charles Baudelaire
Ah, if he could have plunged up into the clouds, so as to sweep thereon through the undulating heavens over the boundless earth!—ah, if he could have floated with the flower-fragrance over the flowers,—could have streamed with the wind over the summits, through the woods! – Jean Paul Friedrich Richter, Hesperus, or Forty-Five Dog-Post-Days: A Biography,