What is that sad, black island like a pall? Why, Cytherea, famed in many a book, The Eldorado of old-stagers. Look: It's but a damned poor country af… - Charles Baudelaire

Tell me, enigmatical man, whom do you love best, your father,
Your mother, your sister, or your brother?
I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother.
Your friends?
Now you use a word whose meaning I have never known.
Your country?
I do not know in what latitude it lies.
Beauty?
I could indeed love her, Goddess and Immortal.
Gold?
I hate it as you hate God.
Then, what do you love, extraordinary stranger?
I love the clouds the clouds that pass up there
Up there the wonderful clouds!

I know that pain is the one nobility / upon which Hell itself cannot encroach

Cum alţii prin iubire-ar vrea,să stăpânească viaţa ta,eu vreau s-o stăpânesc prin groază.