It is at despair at not being able to be noble and beautiful by natural means that we have made up our faces so strangely.
Charles BaudelaireAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet, Critic
- Nationality: french
- Born: April 9, 1821
- Died: August 31, 1867
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I want to see what can be seen, of him, take him in, memorize him, save him up so I can live on the image, later: the lines of his body, the texture of his flesh, the glisten of sweat on his pelt, his long sardonic unrevealing face. I ought to have done that with Luke, paid more attention, to the details, the moles and scares, the singular creases; I didn't and he's fading. Day by day, night by night he recedes, and I become more faithless.
Margaret Atwood
...; the chipped plates might have been disinterred from some kitchen midden near an inhabited lake; and the chops recalled times more ancient still. They brought forcibly to one's mind the night of ages when the primeval man, evolving the first rudiments of cookery from his dim consciousness, scorched lumps of flesh at a fire of sticks...
Joseph Conrad
