Poetry and progress are like two ambitious men who hate one another with an instinctive hatred, and when they meet upon the same road, one of them has to give place.

Quote by Charles Baudelaire

Topics: Poetry Quotes, Progress Quotes

What is art? Prostitution.

What is art? Prostitution.

Hypocrite reader my fellow my brother!

Hypocrite reader my fellow my brother!

Everything for me becomes allegory.

Everything for me becomes allegory.

I am unable to understand how a man of honor could take a newspaper in...

I am unable to understand how a man of honor could take a newspaper in...

To be a great man and a saint for oneself, that is the only important...

To be a great man and a saint for oneself, that is the only important...

Whether you come from heaven or hell, what does it matter, O Beauty!

Whether you come from heaven or hell, what does it matter, O Beauty!

Everything that is beautiful and noble is the product of reason and calculation.

Everything that is beautiful and noble is the product of reason and calculation.

Our religion is itself profoundly sad - a religion of universal anguish, and one which,...

Our religion is itself profoundly sad - a religion of universal anguish, and one which,...

It is unfortunately very true that, without leisure and money, love can be no more...

It is unfortunately very true that, without leisure and money, love can be no more...

Inspiration comes of working every day.

Inspiration comes of working every day.

The world only goes round by misunderstanding.

The world only goes round by misunderstanding.

Progress, this great heresy of decay.

Progress, this great heresy of decay.

Every idea is endowed of itself with immortal life, like a human being. All created...

Every idea is endowed of itself with immortal life, like a human being. All created...

It is necessary to work, if not from inclination, at least from despair. Everything considered,...

It is necessary to work, if not from inclination, at least from despair. Everything considered,...

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

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

Nothing can be done except little by little.

Nothing can be done except little by little.

Any man who does not accept the conditions of life sells his soul.

Any man who does not accept the conditions of life sells his soul.

In literature as in ethics, there is danger, as well as glory, in being subtle....

In literature as in ethics, there is danger, as well as glory, in being subtle....

There is no dream of love, however ideal it may be, which does not end...

There is no dream of love, however ideal it may be, which does not end...

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

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