Charles Baudelaire
It is the hour to be drunken! To escape being the martyred slaves of time, be ceaselessly drunk. On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as you wish.
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A lovely nook of forest scenery, or a grand rock...Some facts should be suppressed...Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill...Success is a journey, not a destination...By blood a king, in heart a clown...The empires of the future...
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