intelligent and full of life, in a moment of so many difficulties and so much sadness… They were the only air I could breathe! All the rest, suffocation!”
– Luigi Pirandello (1867—1936), from a letter to Marta Abba (1900—1988), dated August 20, 1926, in: “Pirandello’s Love Letters to Marta Abba”, translated from the Italian by Benito Ortolani
“For a long time I’ve been wanting to write to you in the evening after one of those outings with friends […]. I wanted to bring you my conqueror’s joy and lay it at your feet, as they did in the Age of the Sun King. And then, tired out by all the shouting, I always simply went to bed. Today I’m doing it to feel the pleasure you don’t yet know, of turning abruptly from friendship to love, from strength to tenderness. I am mastering my love for you… This happens much more often than I admit to you, but seldom when I’m writing to you. Try to understand me: I love you while paying attention to external things. At Toulouse I simply loved you. Tonight I love you on a spring evening. I love you with the window open. You are mine, and things are mine, and my love alters the things around me and the things around me alter my love.”
– Jean-Paul Sartre (1905—1980), from a letter to Simone de Beauvoir (1908—1986), in: “Witness to My Life: The Letters Of Jean-Paul Sartre to Simone De Beayvoir, 1926—1939”
“Death, especially the most completely felt and experienced death, has never remained an obstacle to life for a surviving individual, because its innermost essence is not contrary to us (as one may occasionally suspect), but it is more knowing about life than we are in our most vital moments. I always think that such a great weight, with its tremendous pressure, somehow has the task of forcing us into a deeper, more intimate layer of life so that we may grow out of it all the more vibrant and fertile.”
– Rainer Maria Rilke (1875—1926), from a letter to Adelheid von der Marwitz, dated September 11, 1919, in: “The Dark Interval. Rainer Maria Rilke. Letters on Loss, Grief and Transformation”, translated from the German by Ulrich Baer
“Tell me you haven’t forgotten me.
You couldn’t.
I always have you with me.”
– Arthur Rimbaud (1854—1891), from a letter to his Paul Verlaine (1844—1896), dated July 4, 1873, in: “I Promise to be Good. The Letters of Arthur Rimbaud”, translated from the French by Watt Mason
“… you, so close beside me, so sensitive that one could drown in your sensitivity.”
– Boris Pasternak (1890—1960), from a letter to Olga Freidenberg (1890—1955), Moscow, dated July 23, 1910, in: “The Correspondence of Boris Pasternak and Olga Freidenberg, 1910—1954″, translated from the Russian by Elliott Mossman and Margaret Wettlin
“Love is a want of my heart. I have examined myself lately with more care than formerly, and find, that to deaden is not to calm the mind – Aiming at tranquillity, I have almost destroyed all the energy of my soul – almost rooted out what renders it estimable – Yes, I have damped that enthusiasm of character, which converts the grossest materials into a fuel, that imperceptibly feeds hopes, which aspire above common enjoyment.”
– Mary Wollstonecraft (1759—1797), from a letter to Gilbert Imlay (1754—1828), Sweden, dated July 3, 1795, in: “The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay”
“I stretch out my hands towards you. Oh! may I live to touch your hair and your hands. I think that your love will watch over my life. If I should die, I want you to live a gentle peaceful existence somewhere, with flowers, pictures, books, and lots of work.”
– Oscar Wilde (1854—1900), from a letter to Lord Alfred Douglas (1870—1945), HM Prison, Hollowa, dated Monday Evening, April 29, 1895, in: “Oscar Wilde: A Life In Letters” by Merlin Holland
“You ought to be here – Or I there – Ever in each other’s arms – Floating into space – No one to disturb – Just kisses & love – & great peace – Even when no kisses – kisses take place – Two Souls have become One – Flesh does not touch – ”
– Alfred Stieglitz (1864—1946), from a letter to Georgia O’Keeffe (1887—1986), New York City, dated late June 1918, in: “My Faraway One. Selected Letters of Georgia O’Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz. Volume 1, 1915—1933″
“There is sorrow in the hour when a man is born into the world, but also joy – deep and unspeakable – thankfulness so great that it reacheth the highest Heavens. Yes the Angels of God they smile they hope and they rejoice when a man is born in the world. There is sorrow in the hour of death – but there too joy unspeakable when it is the hour of death of one who has fought a good fight.”
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