GWYNBLEIDD. > GWYNBLEIDD.'s Quotes

“Ange plein de gaieté, connaissez-vous l'angoisse,
La honte, les remords, les sanglots, les ennuis,
Et les vagues terreurs de ces affreuses nuits
Qui compriment le coeur comme un papier qu'on froisse?
Ange plein de gaieté, connaissez-vous l'angoisse?”
― Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal

“Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.

(L'Invitation au Voyage)”
― Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal

“Cum alţii prin iubire-ar vrea,să stăpânească viaţa ta,eu vreau s-o stăpânesc prin groază.”
― Charles Baudelaire, Complete Poems: Charles Baudelaire

“There is an invincible taste for prostitution in the heart of man, from which comes his horror of solitude. He wants to be 'two'. The man of genius wants to be 'one'... It is this horror of solitude, the need to lose oneself in the external flesh, that man nobly calls 'the need to love'.”
― Charles Baudelaire

“Dans ce trou noir ou lumineux vit la vie, rêve la vie, souffre la vie.”
― Charles Baudelaire, Paris Spleen

“L'oubli puissant habite sur ta bouche,
Et le Léthé coule dans tes baisers.”
― Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal

“The act of love greatly resembles torture or surgery.”
― Charles Baudelaire, My Heart Laid Bare: Intimate diaries with 30 illustrations

“ENIVREZ-VOUS

Il faut être toujours ivre, tout est là ; c'est l'unique question. Pour ne pas sentir l'horrible fardeau du temps qui brise vos épaules et vous penche vers la terre, il faut vous enivrer sans trêve.

Mais de quoi? De vin, de poésie, ou de vertu à votre guise, mais enivrez-vous!

Et si quelquefois, sur les marches d'un palais, sur l'herbe verte d'un fossé, vous vous réveillez, l'ivresse déjà diminuée ou disparue, demandez au vent, à la vague, à l'étoile, à l'oiseau, à l'horloge; à tout ce qui fuit, à tout ce qui gémit, à tout ce qui roule, à tout ce qui chante, à tout ce qui parle, demandez quelle heure il est. Et le vent, la vague, l'étoile, l'oiseau, l'horloge, vous répondront, il est l'heure de s'enivrer ; pour ne pas être les esclaves martyrisés du temps, enivrez-vous, enivrez-vous sans cesse de vin, de poésie, de vertu, à votre guise.

(in Le Spleen de Paris)”
― Charles Baudelaire, Paris Spleen

“the Devil's hand directs our every move
the things we loathed become the things we love;
day by day we drop through stinking shades
quite undeterred on our descent to Hell.”
― Charles Baudelaire, Flowers of Evil and Other Works/Les Fleurs du Mal et Oeuvres Choisies : A Dual-Language Book

“Le Goût du néant

Morne esprit, autrefois amoureux de la lutte,
L’Espoir, dont l’épéron attisait ton ardeur,
Ne veut plus t’enfourcher! Couche-toi sans pudeur,
Vieux cheval dont le pied à chaque obstacle bute.

Résigne-toi, mon coeur; dors ton sommeil de brute.

Esprit vaincu, fourbu! Pour toi, vieux maraudeur,
L’amour n’a plus de goût, non plus que la dispute;
Adieu donc, chants du cuivre et soupirs de la flûte!
Plaisirs, ne tentez plus un coeur sombre et boudeur!

Le Printemps adorable a perdu son odeur!

Et le Temps m’engloutit minute par minute,
Comme la neige immense un corps pris de roideur;
Je contemple d’en haut le globe en sa rondeur
Et je n’y cherche plus l’abri d’une cahute.

Avalance, veux-tu m’emporter dans ta chute?”
― Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal

“A woman being never at a loss... the devil always sticks by them.”
― George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron: Selected Letters and Journals

“There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.”
― Lord Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

“Lord help my poor soul.”
― Edgar Allan Poe

“You call it hope — that fire of fire!
It is but agony of desire.”
― Edgar Allan Poe, Edgar Allan Poe: Selected Poems

“Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or silly action for no other reason than because he knows he should not? Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the teeth of our best judgement, to violate that which is Law, merely because we understand it to be such?”
― Edgar Allan Poe, The Black Cat

“When I was young and filled with folly, I fell in love with melancholy”
― Edgar Allan Poe

“In other words, I believed, and still do believe, that truth, is frequently of its own essence, superficial, and that, in many cases, the depth lies more in the abysses where we seek her, than in the actual situations wherein she may be found.”
― Edgar Allan Poe

“Here I opened wide the door;— Darkness there, and nothing more.”
― Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven

“Let me glimpse inside your velvet bones.”
― Edgar Allan Poe

“In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream”
― Edgar Allan Poe

“Oh, sim! O Tempo está de volta; O Tempo reina como um rei agora; e junto dele aquele velho homem com seu arsenal demoníaco de Memórias, Arrependimentos, Espasmos, Medos, Ansiedades, Pesadelos, Raivas, e Neuroses.
Eu lhe asseguro que os segundos são mais fortes agora, solenemente acentuados, e cada um, saltando do relógio, diz assim, Eu sou a Vida, intolerável, implacável!”
― Charles Baudelaire, Paris Spleen

“A vida é um hospital cujos pacientes são obcecados pela troca das camas. Este quer sofrer frente a fornalha, aquele outro pensa que melhorará caso se mantenha perto da janela.

Sempre me pareceu que eu estaria melhor em qualquer outro lugar exceto o lugar em que estou agora, e esta questão de seguir adiante é uma questão que muito discuto com minha alma.”
― Charles Baudelaire, Paris Spleen

“You must be drunk always. That is everything: the only question. Not to feel the horrible burden of Time that crushes your shoulders and bends you earthward, you must be drunk without respite. But drunk on what? On wine, on poetry, on virtue — take your pick. But be drunk.”
― Charles Baudelaire, Be Drunk: A Poem by Charles Baudelaire

“স্যামুয়েল ক্র্যামার, যিনি প্রথম দিকে ম্যানুয়েলা দে মঁতেভেরদে বেনামে কয়েকটা রোমান্টিক বোকামি সই করেছিলেন -- রোমান্টিসিজমের সোনালি দিনগুলোয় -- তিনি ফ্যাকাশে এক জার্মান বাবা এবং ময়লা এক চিলে মায়ের পরস্পরবিরোধী ফসল । এই দ্বৈত শুরুর সঙ্গে যোগ করুন ফরাসি শিক্ষা আর সাহিত্যিক প্রেক্ষাপট, আর আপনি অবাক হবেন -- কিংবা, হয়তো, পরিতুষ্ট ও মানসিকভাবে তৃপ্ত -- তাঁর চরিত্রের অদ্ভুত জটিলতার কথা শুনে । স্যামুয়েলের আছে বিশুদ্ধ, ভ্রূকোঁচকানো, কালোকফির ফোঁটার মতন চকচকে দুই চোখ, উদ্ধত ও অবজ্ঞাছাপ নাক, বেহায়া কামুক ঠোঁট, চৌকো স্বৈরাচারী থুতনি, আর রাফায়েলকে নকল-করা মাথাভর্তি চুল । --- লোকটা একইসঙ্গে ভীষণ অলস, করুণা-জাগানো উচ্চাকাঙ্খী, এবং খ্যাতি-পাওয়া অভাগা ; কেননা সারাজীবনে উনি আধখ্যাঁচড়া ধ্যানধারণা ছাড়া আর কিছুই বড়ো একটা ভাবতে পারেননি । কুঁড়েমির যে সূর্য ওনার চারিপাশে চোপোরদিন রোদ ছড়ায় তা ওনাকে ক্ষইয়ে দিয়েছিল, আর খেয়ে ফেলেছিল ওনাকে দেয়া স্বর্গের যৎসামান্য প্রতিভার খোরাক । প্যারিসের এই ভয়ঙ্কর জীবনে আমি যে সমস্ত আদ্দেক-বিশাল মানুষদের দেখেছি, স্যামুয়েল সেইসব জমঘটিয়া চালু চিজের চেয়ে বেশি-কিছু ছিলেন -- দুনিয়ার বাইরে একজন , খেয়ালি জীব, যাঁর কবিতা ওনার রচনার চেয়ে চেহারায় বেশি খোলতাই হতো, এমনই একজন যিনি, দুপুর একটা নাগাদ, তাপ পোয়াবার কয়লার আগুনের ঝলক আর ঘড়ির টিকটকের মাঝে, সব সময় মনে হতো যেন নপুংসকতার একজন দেবতা -- একজন আধুনিক, উভলৈঙ্গিক দেবতা --- নপুংসকতায় এমন বিশাল, এমন নিদারুণ যে তাঁকে মনে হতো মহাকাব্যিক !”
― Charles Baudelaire, La Fanfarlo, suivi de Conseils aux jeunes littérateurs

“They heard Hugo ask if the plan for the hors d'oeuvres was still in operation, and they heard Colette ask about plucking the feathers off crows, and they heard Kevin complain that he didn't know whether to hold the birdpaper in his right hand or his left hand, and they heard Mr. Lesko insult Mrs. Morrow, and the bearded man sing a song to the woman with the crow-shaped hat, and they heard a man call for Bruce and a woman call for her mother and dozens of people whisper to and shout at, argue with and agree upon, angrily accuse and meekly defend, furiously compliment and kindly insult dozens of other people, both inside and outside the Hotel Denouement, whose names the Baudelaires recognized, forgot, and had never heard before. Each story had its story, and each story's story was unfathomable in the Baudelaire orphans' short journey, and many of the stories' stories are unfathomable to me, even after all these lonely years and all this lonely research. Perhaps some of these stories are clearer to you, because you have spied upon the people involved. Perhaps Mrs. Bass has changed her name and lives near you, or perhaps Mr. Remora's name is the same, and he lives far away. Perhaps Nero now works as a grocery store clerk, or Geraldine Julienne now teaches arts and crafts. Perhaps Charles and Sir are no longer partners, and you have had the occasion to study one of them as he sat across from you on a bus, or perhaps Hugo, Colette, and Kevin are still comrades, and you have followed these unfathomable people after noticing that one of them used both hands equally. Perhaps Mr. Lesko is now your neighbor, or Mrs. Morrow is now your sister, or your mother, or your aunt or wife or even your husband. Perhaps the noise you hear outside your door is a bearded man trying to climb into your window, or perhaps it is a woman in a crow-shaped hat hailing a taxi. Perhaps you have spotted the managers of the Hotel Denouement, or the judges of the High Court, or the waiters of Cafe Salmonella or the Anxious Clown, or perhaps you have met an expert on injustice or become one yourself. Perhaps the people in your unfathomable life, and their unfathomable stories, are clear to you as you make your way in the world, but when the elevator stopped for the last time, and the doors slid open to reveal the tilted roof of the Hotel Denouement, the Baudelaires felt as if they were balancing very delicately on a mysterious and perplexing heap of unfathomable mysteries.”
― Lemony Snicket, The Penultimate Peril

“They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. -Eleonora”
― Edgar Allan Poe

“There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more”
― Lord Byron

“Democracy is a very admirable form of government – for dogs.”
― Edgar Allan Poe

“Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?”
― John Keats, Letters of John Keats

“Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard, are sweeter”
― John Keats, Ode On A Grecian Urn And Other Poems