Tell me, you enigmatic man, whom do you love the most? Your father, your
mother, your sister or your brother?
— I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother.
— You’re using a word whose meaning remains yet unknown to me.
— I ignore even the latitude where it is situated.
— I would be happy to love her, goddess-like and immortal.
— I hate gold like you hate God.
Well then, what do you love, extraordinary stranger ?
— I love the clouds… the clouds that pass… down there… over there… the
"The Stranger" by Charles Baudelaire
from Le Spleen de Paris
Translated by Paul D’Agostino
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