Nature is a temple in which living columns sometimes emit confused words. Man approaches it through forests of symbols, which observe him with familiar glances.
Charles BaudelaireWhat I say is that the supreme and singular joy of making love resides in the certainty of doing evil.
Charles BaudelaireIt is one of the prodigious privileges of art that the horrific, artistically expressed, becomes beauty, and that sorrow, given rhythm and cadence, fills the spirit with a calm joy.
Charles Baudelaire