The Poet is like the prince of the clouds, who haunts the tempest and laughs at the archer. Exiled on the ground in the midst of the jeering crowd, his giant's wings keep him from walking.
Charles BaudelaireEven in the centuries which appear to us to be the most monstrous and foolish, the immortal appetite for beauty has always found satisfaction.
Charles BaudelaireUnable to suppress love, the Church wanted at least to disinfect it, and it created marriage.
Charles Baudelaire