A Quote by Charles Baudelaire

Finer than any sand are dusts of gold that gleam, Vague starpoints, in the mystic iris of their eyes. — © Charles Baudelaire
Finer than any sand are dusts of gold that gleam, Vague starpoints, in the mystic iris of their eyes.
My treasure chest is filled with gold. Gold . . . gold . . . gold . . . Vagabond's gold and drifter's gold . . . Worthless, priceless, dreamer's gold . . . Gold of the sunset . . . gold of the dawn . . .Gold of the showertrees on my lawn . . . Poet's gold and artist's gold . . . Gold that can not be bought or sold - Gold.
A decision, an action, are infallible omens of what we shall do another time, not for any vague, mystic, astrological reason but because they result from an automatic reaction that will repeat itself.
Use colors on eyes that contrast with the iris to make eyes appear more vibrant.
His eyes are blue, and blue eyes up close are a celestial phenomenon: nebulae as seen through telescopes, the light of unnamed stars diffused through dusts and elements and endlessness. Layers of light. Blue eyes are starlight.
I cannot be known Better than you know me Your eyes in which we sleep We together Have made for my man’s gleam A better fate than for the common nights Your eyes in which I travel Have given to signs along the roads A meaning alien to the earth In your eyes who reveal to us Our endless solitude Are no longer what they thought themselves to be You cannot be known Better than I know you.
When you make something fetish, ashes and dusts will laugh at you, because they know even the most valuable fetishes will turn into dusts and ashes!
If there are finer beings than German short hairs, I don't know what they are. In their eyes is peace.
These joys were so trifling as to be as imperceptible as grains of gold among the sand, and in moments of depression she saw nothing but the sand; yet there were brighter moments when she felt nothing but joy, saw nothing but the gold.
The finer the instrument, the greater the power. The mind is much finer and more powerful than the body.
There's never been a finer man in American sports than John Wooden, or a finer coach.
Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, Where the winds are all asleep; Where the spent lights quiver and gleam; Where the salt weed sways in the stream.
One quality of a good songwriter is to be vague. A vague notion, a vague image, but enough to give the listener the opportunity to make more out of what's being said than is there. That's the great thing about Bob Dylan's songs: We the listeners have made more out of them than he ever intended.
But every human path leads on to God; He holds a myriad finer threads than gold, And strong as holy wishes, drawing us With delicate tension upward to Himself.
It is hard to know what other way men can come to truth, to lay hold of it, if they do not dig and search for it as for gold and hid treasure; but he that does so, must have much earth and rubbish, before he gets the pure metal; sand, and pebbles, and dross usually lie blended with it, but the gold is nevertheless gold, and will enrich the man that employs his pains to seek and separate it.
Like an old gold-panning prospector, you must resign yourself to digging up a lot of sand from which you will later patiently wash out a few minute particles of gold ore.
If the fire of hell is not literal, it is worse than actual fire, and if the gates of the Celestial City are not actual gold, they are far finer.
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