p>Quotes from my Blog. Letters
Составитель Tatyana Miller
Photograph Margarita Koshneva
Cover designer Samuel Miller
© Margarita Koshneva, photos, 2021
© Samuel Miller, cover design, 2021
ISBN 978-5-0053-5432-7
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
This book is a collection of quotes from letters that was selected from the books I personally read, and republished on my blog from July 2017 to March 2021.
Editor: Tatyana Miller
The cover: image by Margarita Kochneva from Pixabay (free for commercial use), design by Samuel Miller
Quotes from Letters
“This sickness is incurable and it is called: soul.”
– Marina Tsvetaeva (1892—1941), from a letter to Olga Kolbasine-Chernova, dated January 8, 1925, in: “The Same Solitude” by Catherine Ciepiela
“I have nothing to expect, and little to fear, in life – There are wounds that can never be healed – but they may be allowed to fester in silence without wincing.”
– Mary Wollstonecraft (1759—1797), from a letter to Gilbert Imlay (1754—1828), Tonsberg, dated July 30, 1795, in: “The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay”
“The state of being alone was my religion. You have become the center of my life, the goddess of one who does not believe in anything, the greatest happiness and unhappiness ever encountered.”
– Emil Cioran (1911—1995), from a letter to Friedgard Thoma, in: “Um nichts in der Welt”, translated from the Romanian translation by Christina Tudor-Sideri
“Follow me into this depth, into which we must descend with courage. But I would love to have you close to me! I’ve never felt as unhappy as I am now. I’m really touching the lowest point of my desperate loneliness. I swear it to you…”
– Luigi Pirandello (1867—1936), from a letter to Marta Abba (1900—1988), dated July 22, 1929, in: “Pirandello’s Love Letters to Marta Abba”, translated from the Italian by Benito Ortolani
“How good it would be if I could cry my eyes out on your chest, my heart is so sore. I could cry out like a wounded animal, I feel so torn and full of pain.”
– Marie Bader (1886—1942), from a letter to Ernst Löwy (1880—1943), Karlín, dated January 28, 1942, in: “Life and Love in Nazi Prague. Letters from an Occupied City. Marie Bader”, translated by Kate Ottevang
“My always beloved: I swear, my love, I give you my true word of honor, that I have just finished kneeling before the statue of Our Lord of the Stations of the Cross, full of tears, to pray that you always love me, that you never forget me, and like me always; you can’t imagine, dear love, how painful was your great indifference toward me, as you showed it today so very clearly. How you rejected me, how cold you were toward your “little baby’!
I swear by everything I hold dear that all day long I haven’t been able to accept that it is possible to stop loving a person one professed to love so much! I can’t accept it. I haven’t eaten anything, nor do I feel like eating, the only thing I want to do is cry (except for the desire to be with you!); believe me, my eyes hurt from crying, I can’t convince myself that you may forget me, that you may stop loving your “little doll’. No, my little darling! You couldn’t have forgotten me?! You couldn’t have stopped loving me?!”
– Ophelia Queiroz (1900—1991), from a letter to Fernando Pessoa (1888—1935), dated March 20, 1920, 11:30 P.M., in: “In praise of Ophelia: an interpretation of Pessoa’s only love” by Alexandrino E. Severino and Hubert D. Jennings / “Pessoa Plural. A journal Of Pessoa Studies. №4″, 2013
“I should be always physically near you, no; it’s enough that you feel me near inside your heart, as before, always near; and that when you will not feel any longer that way, you’ll tell me, honestly, as a soul as noble and pure as yours cannot but do. This is it. Without false pity. Because I have a strong and proud spirit, and I can close with firm hand the door to life and shut myself up, mute in my grief and in death.”
– Luigi Pirandello (1867—1936), from a letter to Marta Abba (1900—1988), dated April 5, 1929, in: “Pirandello’s Love Letters to Marta Abba”, translated from the Italian by Benito Ortolani
“The more I loved what I had possessed, the more I must grieve for what I have lost, and the most exquisite joy and pleasure must end in the extreme of sorrow.”
– Héloïse d’Argenteuil (1101? —1163/4?), from a letter to Pierre Abelard (1079—1142), in: “The Letters of Heloise and Abelard. A translation of their correspondence and related writings”, translated from the French by Mary Martin McLaughlin with Bonnie Wheeler
“No, it is not silly to embrace each other on New Year’s day: on the contrary, it is good and it is nice. I thank you for having thought of it and I kiss you on your beautiful big eyes.”
– George Sand (1804—1876), from a letter to Gustave Flaubert (1821—1880), Nohant, dated January 2, 1868, in: “The George Sand-Gustave Flaubert Letters”, translated from the French by A.L. McKenzie
“… those red roseleaf lips of yours should have been made no less for music and song than for
madness of kissing. Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry.”
– Oscar Wilde (1854—1900), from a letter to Lord Alfred Douglas (1870—1945), dated? January, 1893, in: “Oscar Wilde: A Life In Letters” by Merlin Holland
“We suffer from one thing only: Absurdity. But it is formidable and universal.”
– Gustave Flaubert (1821—1880), from a letter to George Sand (1804—1876), dated November 14, 1871, in: “The George Sand-Gustave Flaubert Letters”, translated from the French by A.L. McKenzie
“I hope you are in bed – asleep – not thinking – just feeling what I feel – Our togetherness which nothing can disturb. – Maybe I’m old enough to have learned how stupid I can be! – You dearest Sweet One – Good Night – I kiss you & love you much – ”
– Alfred Stieglitz (1864—1946), from a letter to Georgia O’Keeffe (1887—1986), Boston, Massachusetts, dated September 3, 1926, in: “My Faraway One. Selected Letters of Georgia O’Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz. Volume 1, 1915—1933″
“Without you, dearest dearest I couldn’t see or hear or feel or think – or live – I love you so and I’m never in all our lives going to let us be apart another night. It’s like begging for mercy of a storm or killing Beauty or growing old, without you. I want to kiss you so – and in the back where your dear hair starts and your chest – I love you – and I cant tell you how much – To think that I’ll die without your knowing – Goofo, you’ve got to try [to] feel how much I do – how inanimate I am when you’re gone – I can’t even hate these damnable people – nobodys got any right to live but us – and they’re dirtying
