Elle aimait trop le bal, c’est ce qui l ‘a tuée.. [Victor Hugo, Fantômes]
Waltz of Death by Gustave Adolf Mossa, 1906
Watercolor and black chalk
from The Minneapolis Institute of Arts
thanks to ubu507
fantastic Jacques Roubille illustration of Les Fleurs du Mal
thanks to aucarrefouretrange & les-retrogaleries-de-gutsy
more illustrations at lesretrogaleriesdemistergutsy and some more Baudelaire here
Illustration for Edgar Allan Poe by Alberto Martini *
via MONSTER BRAINS
La Mort: Mon ironie depasse toutes les autres! [Death: My irony surpasses all others ! ]
Plate III from To Gustave Flaubert—The Temptation of Saint Anthony, 1889 by Odilon Redon *
more Temptations awaits you @ art of the beautiful-grotesque
Animazione, 1915 by Alberto Martini *
from L’opera grafica di Alberto Martini by Francesco Meloni & Leonardo Sciascia,1975
The Snake,1905 by Albert-Joseph Pénot *
Sorcellerie by Jan Frans De Boever *
My hallucinations are endless. This is what I’ve always gone through: the end of my faith in history, the neglect of my principles. I shall say no more about this: poets and visionaries would be jealous. I am the richest one of all, a thousand times, and I will hoard it like the sea.
***
I ought to have a special hell for my anger, a hell for my pride, - and a hell for sex; a whole symphony of hells!
Arthur Rimbaud
Der Todesengel by Alfred Kubin
Carlo Farneti’s illustration for Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du Mal,1935 [see also]
old fave from A Journey Round My Skull
[reminds me of this frontispiece;]
‘ ..Lempicka looks like every other one of her tubular belles. But there is a rapacity in those hooded eyes that seems to sum up the real woman, who could never have enough sex, cash, food or fame.
In Paris, Lempicka slept with actresses, prostitutes, ambassadors and sailors. She drank gin fizzes with deposed royals, threw colossal parties where naked girls were hired as human caviare dishes and worked at least as hard on her media profile as her art. When Lempicki left her, she replaced him with a Hungarian millionaire who doled out the money and asked nothing..’
Everything one does in life, even love, occurs in an express train racing toward death. To smoke opium is to get out of the train while it is still moving. It is to concern oneself with something other than life or death.
Opium,1929 by Jean Cocteau [revisited,see also]
illustration from Opium Museum via Paperblog