In this horror of solitude, this need to lose his ego in exterior flesh, which man calls grandly the need for love. – Charles Baudelaire
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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
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This life is a hospital in which every patient is possessed with a desire to change his bed. – Charles Baudelaire
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