Author of quotes: Charles Baudelaire. Page 7

My dove,
Will run off the edge,
Where all, like you, perfection
And we will be there
Divide in half
Life, love, and bliss.

Tell me where you come in, Beauty?
Your eyes - the sky or a fiend?
You like wine, pianist clinging mouth,
Still you joy and intrigues to sow glad.

Always mysterious, silent power is yours
And all - delight, all you criminal!

Persistent defect in us, repentance - feigned;
For all hundredfold afford to pay slowly,
Again by sin, laughing, glides the soul,
Tears of cowardice and wash your way shameful.

Spiritual hunger is suppressed ambitions... sometimes traces of vengeful, cold, mystic and sometimes unhappiness. I'm not saying that joy is alien to beauty, but the joy is one of the most vulgar outfits beauty, while melancholy is her best companion and I can hardly imagine the beauty without sadness.

In love hate that this crime can not do without an assistant.

Longing blissful you know, like me?
Like me, have you heard the title: "Strange"?
I was dying in the soul in love zataya
The fire of desire and unspeakable horror.
The smaller fell in the empty hours of sand,
Inferior sadness obedient hope,
The thinner, sweeter was my longing;
I longed to throw the world near and dear before.

The sophisticated trick of the devil is to assure you that it does not exist.

O mortal! like a dream of stone, I'm beautiful!
And my chest that will ruin all succession,
Heart of artists tormented by the love of power,
A similar substance, eternal and silent.
Blue reign I the Sphinx nepotisim;
Like a Swan, I'm white, and cold as snow;
Ignoring the movement, admiring the still;
Ever I'm not laughing, I didn't cry forever.
I - strict the sample to the proud sculptures
And, with the vain desire to satisfy the hunger of dreams,
Poets bow before me in the dust.
But they are attracted to me submissive and in love,
The radiance of eternity in my eyes, sleepless,
Where everything is more beautiful as pure mirrors.

Life is a hospital where every patient wants to move to another bed.

Lover girl - is a bottle of wine, a wife is a bottle of wine.

Those who know me, will understand; for those who do not want or can't understand me, I would only be useless to pile up their explanations.

Speaking of sleep, that sinister and wayward host our nights, the courage with which people repeatedly put myself in his power, would be a great surprise if she weren't a result of simple ignorance and not understanding danger.

- Tell me, enigmatic man, whom do you love more, father, mother, sister or brother?
- I have neither father nor mother, nor sister, nor brother.
- And friends?
I don't understand what you mean: the meaning of your words escapes me.
- A homeland?
- I do not know in what latitude it lies.
- Beauty?
I'd like to like her, if she was an immortal goddess.
- Gold?
- Hate it as you hate God.
- So what do you love awkward stranger?
I love the clouds... the clouds floating there... far... far... fabulous clouds!