Charles Baudelaire

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This life is a hospital in which every patient is possessed with a desire to change his bed.

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To the solemn graves, near a lonely cemetery, my heart like a muffled drum is beating funeral marches.

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It is the hour to be drunken! To escape being the martyred slaves of time, be ceaselessly drunk. On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as you wish.

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I can barely conceive of a type of beauty in which there is no Melancholy.

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The world only goes round by misunderstanding.

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To say the word Romanticism is to say modern art — that is, intimacy, spirituality, color, aspiration towards the infinite, expressed by every means available to the arts.

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Beauty is the sole ambition, the exclusive goal of Taste.

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It is by universal misunderstanding that all agree. For if, by ill luck, people understood each other, they would never agree.

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The dance can reveal everything mysterious that is hidden in music, and it has the additional merit of being human and palpable. Dancing is poetry with arms and legs.

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