With wine, poetry, or virtue as you choose. But get drunk. - Charles Baudelaire

The man who is unable to people his solitude is equally unable to be alone in a bustling crowd. The poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able to be himself or some one else, as he chooses. [...] The solitary and thoughtful stroller finds a singular intoxication in this universal communion. [...] What men call love is a very small, restricted, feeble thing compared with this ineffable orgy, this divine prostitution of the soul giving itself entire...to the unexpected as it comes along, the stranger as he passes.

Modernity is the transitory, fugitive, contingent, is but one half of art, of which the other half is the eternal and immutable.

Thy laughter soaked in tears which no one sees.