Iata cateva scrisori de dragoste…..o doamne , nu ale mele…ci doar cateva scrisori celebre :P
A Love Letter By Victor Hugo to Adele Foucher
Friday evening, March 15, 1822
After the two delightful evenings spent yesterday and the day before, I shall certainly not go out tonight, but will sit here at home and write to you.
Besides, my Adele, my adorable and adored Adele, what have I not to tell you? O, God! for two days, I have been asking myself if every moment if such happiness is not a dream. It seems to me that what I feel is not of earth. I cannot yet comprehend this cloudless heaven. You do not yet know, Adele, to what I had resigned myself. Alas, do I know it myself?
Because I was weak, I fancied I was calm; because I was preparing myself for all the mad follies of despair, I thought I was courageous and resigned. Ah! let me cast myself humbly at your feet, you
who are so grand, so tender and strong! I had been thinking that the utmost limit of my devotion could only be the sacrifice of my life; but you, my generous love, were ready to sacrifice for me the repose of yours.
You have been privileged to receive every gift from nature, you have both fortitude and tears. Oh, Adele, do not mistake these words for blind enthusiasm – enthusiasm for you has lasted all my life, and increased day by day. My whole soul is yours. If my entire existence had not been yours, the harmony of my being would have been lost, and I must have died — died inevitably.
These were my meditations, Adele, when the letter that was to bring me hope of else despair arrived. If you love me, you know what must have been my joy. What I know you may have felt, I will not describe. My Adele, why is there no word for this but joy? Is it because there is no power in human speech
to express such happiness? The sudden bound from mournful resignation to
infinite felicity seemed to upset me. Even now I am still beside myself and sometimes I tremble lest I should suddenly awaken from this dream divine.
Oh, now you are mine! At last you are mine! Soon in a few months, perhaps, my angel will sleep
in my arms, will awaken in my arms, will live there.
All your thoughts at all moments, all your looks will be for me; all my thoughts, all my moments, all my looks, will be for you!
My Adele! Adieu, my angel, my beloved Adele! Adieu! I will kiss your hair and go to bed. Still I am far from you, but I can dream of you. Soon perhaps you will be at my side. Adieu; pardon the delirium of your husband who embraces you, and who adores you, both for this life and another.
Classic Love Letters, Edgar Allen Poe,
For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous
Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda,
Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines! they hold a treasure
Devine-a talisman-an amulet
That must be worn at heart. Search well the
The words- the syllables! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets, by poets- as the name is a poet’s,
Its letters, although naturally lying
Like the knight Pinto-Mendez Ferdinando-
Still form a synonym for Truth – Cease trying!
You will not read the riddle, though you do the
best you can do.
Edgar Allen Poe
Riddle answer: Frances Sargent Osgood
Count Leo Tolstoi to Valeria Arsenev, his fiance.
November 2, 1856
I already love in you your beauty, but I am only
beginning to love in you that which is eternal
and ever precious – your heart, your soul.
Beauty one could get to know and fall in love
with in one hour and cease to love it as
speedily; but the soul one must learn to know.
Believe me, nothing on earth is given without
labour, even love, the most beautiful and
natural of feelings.
Gustave Flaubert to his wife Louise Colet
August 15, 1846
I will cover you with love when next I see you,
with caresses, with ecstasy.
I want to gorge you with all the joys of the
flesh, so that you faint and die.
I want you to be amazed by me, and to confess to
yourself that you had never even dreamed of such
When you are old, I want you to recall those few
hours, I want your dry bones to quiver with joy
when you think of them.
Franz Kafka To Felice Bauer
11 November, 1912
I am now going to ask you a favor which sounds
quite crazy, and which I should regard as such,
were I the one to receive the letter.
It is also the very greatest test that even the
kindest person could be put to.
Well, this is it: Write to me only once a week,
so that your letter arrives on Sunday — for I
cannot endure your daily letters, I am incapable
of enduring them.
For instance, I answer one of your letters, then
lie in bed in apparent calm, but my heart beats
through my entire body and is conscious only of
I belong to you; there is really no other way of
expressing it, and that is not strong enough.
But for this very reason I don’t want to know
what you are wearing; it confuses me so much that I cannot deal with life; and that’s why Idon’t want to know that you are fond of me. If I
did, how could I, fool that I am, go on sitting
in my office, or here at home, instead of
leaping onto a train with my eyes shut and
opening them only when I am with you?
Oh, there is a sad, sad reason for not doing so.
To make it short: My health is only just good
enough for myself alone, not good enough for
marriage, let alone fatherhood. Yet when I read
your letter, I feel I could overlook even what
cannot possibly be overlooked.
If only I had your answer now! And how horribly
I torment you, and how I compel you, in the
stillness of your room, to read this letter, as
nasty a letter as has ever lain on your desk!
Honestly, it strikes me sometimes that I prey
like a spectre on your felicitous name! If only
I had mailed Saturday’s letter, in which I
implored you never to write to me again, and in
which I gave a similar promise.
Oh God, what prevented me from sending that
letter? All would be well. But is a peaceful
solution possible now? Would it help if we wrote
to each other only once a week?
No, if my suffering could be cured by such means
it would not be serious. And already I foresee
that I shan’t be able to endure even the Sunday
letters. And so, to compensate for Saturday’s
lost opportunity, I ask you with what energy
remains to me at the end of this letter: If we
value our lives, let us abandon it all.
Did I think of signing myself Dein? No, nothing
could be more false. No, I am forever fettered
to myself, that’s what I am, and that’s what I must try to live with.Franz
George Gordon (Lord Byron)
Lady Caroline Lamb
My dearest Caroline,
If tears, which you saw & know I am not apt to
shed, if the agitation in which I parted from
you, agitation which you must have perceived
through the whole of this most nervous nervous
affair, did not commence till the moment of
leaving you approached, if all that I have said
& done, & am still but too ready to say & do,
have not sufficiently proved what my real
feelings are & must be ever towards you, my
love, I have no other proof to offer.
God knows I wish you happy, & when I quit you,
or rather when you from a sense of duty to your
husband & mother quit me, you shall acknowledge
the truth of what I again promise & vow, that no
other in word or deed shall ever hold the place
in my affection which is & shall be most sacred
to you, till I am nothing.
I never knew till that moment, the madness of –
my dearest & most beloved friend — I cannot
express myself — this is no time for words –
but I shall have a pride, a melancholy pleasure,
in suffering what you yourself can hardly
conceive — for you don not know me. — I am now
about to go out with a heavy heart, because –
my appearing this Evening will stop any absurd
story which the events of today might give rise
to — do you think now that I am cold & stern, &
artful — will even others think so, will your
mother even — that mother to whom we must
indeed sacrifice much, more much more on my
part, than she shall ever know or can imagine.
“Promises not to love you” ah Caroline it is
past promising — but shall attribute all
concessions to the proper motive — & never
cease to feel all that you have already
witnessed — & more than can ever be known but
to my own heart — perhaps to yours — May God
protect forgive & bless you — ever & even more
yr. most attached
P.S. — These taunts which have driven you to
this — my dearest Caroline — were it not for
your mother & the kindness of all your
connections, is there anything on earth or
heaven would have made me so happy as to have
made you mine long ago? & not less now than
then, but more than ever at this time — you
know I would with pleasure give up all here &
all beyond the grave for you — & in refraining
from this — must my motives be misunderstood
–? I care not who knows this — what use is
made of it — it is you & to you only that they
owe yourself, I was and am yours, freely & most
Napoleon Bonaparte to Josephine De Beauharnais
Paris, December 1795
I wake filled with thoughts of you. Your
portrait and the intoxicating evening which we
spent yesterday have left my senses in turmoil.
Sweet incomparable Josephine, what a strange
effect you have on my heart!
Are you angry?
Do I see you looking sad? Are you worried? …
My soul aches with sorrow, and there can be no
rest for your lover; but is there still more in
store for me when, yielding to the profound
feelings which overwhelm me, I draw from your
lips, from your heart a love which consumes me
with fire? Ah! it was last night that I fully
realized how false an image of you your portrait
You are leaving at noon; I shall see you in
Until then, mio dolce amor, a thousand kisses;
but give me none in return, for they set my
blood on fire.
Love Letters, Beethoven, Immortal Beloved letter
July 6, in the morning
My angel, my all, my very self -
Only a few words today and at that with
pencil (with yours) – Not till tomorrow will my
lodgings be definitely determined upon – what a
useless waste of time -
Why this deep sorrow when necessity speaks
- can our love endure except through sacrifices,
through not demanding everything from one
another; can you change the fact that you are
not wholly mine, I not wholly thine -
Oh God, look out into the beauties of
nature and comfort your heart with that which
must be -
Love demands everything and that very
justly – thus it is to me with you, and to you
But you forget so easily that I must live
for me and for you; if we were wholly united you
would feel the pain of it as little as I -
My journey was a fearful one; I did not
reach here until 4 o’clock yesterday morning.
Lacking horses the post-coach chose another
route, but what an awful one; at the stage
before the last I was warned not to travel at
night; I was made fearful of a forest, but that
only made me the more eager – and I was wrong.
The coach must needs break down on the
wretched road, a bottomless mud road.
Without such postilions as I had with me I
should have remained stuck in the road.
Esterhazy, traveling the usual road here,
had the same fate with eight horses that I had
with four – Yet I got some pleasure out of it,
as I always do when I successfully overcome
Now a quick change to things internal from
We shall surely see each other soon;
moreover, today I cannot share with you the
thoughts I have had during these last few days
touching my own life -
If our hearts were always close together, I
would have none of these.
My heart is full of so many things to say
to you – ah – there are moments when I feel that
speech amounts to nothing at all -
Cheer up – remain my true, my only
treasure, my all as I am yours.
The gods must send us the rest, what for us
must and shall be -
Your faithful LUDWIG
Evening, Monday, July 6
You are suffering, my dearest creature -
only now have I learned that letters must be
posted very early in the morning on Mondays to
Thursdays – the only days on which the
mail-coach goes from here to K. -
You are suffering -
Ah, wherever I am, there you are also – I
will arrange it with you and me that I can live
What a life!!! thus!!! without you -
pursued by the goodness of mankind hither and
thither – which I as little want to deserve as I
deserve it -
Humility of man towards man – it pains me -
and when I consider myself in relation to the
universe, what am I and what is He – whom we
call the greatest – and yet – herein lies the
divine in man -
I weep when I reflect that you will
probably not receive the first report from me
until Saturday -
Much as you love me – I love you more -
But do not ever conceal yourself from me -
good night -
As I am taking the baths I must go to bed -
Oh God – so near! so far!
Is not our love truly a heavenly structure,
and also as firm as the vault of heaven?
Good morning, on July 7
Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to
you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully,
then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate
will hear us -
I can live only wholly with you or not at
Yes, I am resolved to wander so long away
from you until I can fly to your arms and say
that I am really at home with you, and can send
my soul enwrapped in you into the land of
Yes, unhappily it must be so -
You will be the more contained since you
know my fidelity to you. No one else can ever
possess my heart – never – never -
Oh God, why must one be parted from one
whom one so loves.
And yet my life in V is now a wretched life
Your love makes me at once the happiest and
the unhappiest of men -
At my age I need a steady, quiet life – can
that be so in our connection?
My angel, I have just been told that the
mailcoach goes every day – therefore I must
close at once so that you may receive the letter
at once -
Be calm, only by a calm consideration of
our existence can we achieve our purpose to live
Be calm – love me – today – yesterday -
what tearful longings for you – you – you – my
life – my all – farewell.
Oh continue to love me – never misjudge the
most faithful heart of your beloved.