I have to confess that I had gambled on my soul and lost it with heroic insouciance and lightness of touch. The soul is so impalpable, so often useless, and sometimes such a nuisance, that I felt no more emotion on losing it than if, on a stroll, I had mislaid my visiting card. – Charles Baudelaire
Modernity is the transient, the fleeting, the contingent it is one half of art, the other being the eternal and the immovable. – Charles Baudelaire