скачать книгу бесплатно
– Henry Miller (1891—1980), from a letter to Brenda Venus (born 1947), dated September 29, 1980, in: “Dear, Dear Brenda: The Love Letters of Henry Miller to Brenda Venus”
“I am dreadfully sad. I would like to withdraw from the world; I have only sorrowful impressions of it. I would like to collect all regrets and all good-byes. Seeing you again would suffice for me to recover. Rest assured then that my last rays will still be for you.”
– Germaine de Staël (1766—1817), from a letter to Voght, Geneva, Coppet, dated January 27, 1809, in: “Madame de Staël. Selected correspondence”, translated from the French by Kathleen Jameson-Cemper
“It’s as quiet as the grave here again.”
– Leos Janacek (1854—1928), from a letter to Kamila Stosslova (1891—1935), dated December 2, 1918, in: “Intimate Letters: Leoš Janáček to Kamila Janáček”, translated by John Tyrrell
“I’ve wanted to write you for a long time and who knows what impatience stops me in the middle of letters, what exasperation at my poverty of language. In the end, I’m sending you a few lines so you know that I’m here, that I’m alive, and that if I don’t write it’s because I can’t.
My life here is up and down, it’s the usual flow, hope and hopelessness. Desires to die and to live. Sometimes there’s order, other times the chaos devours me. I think right now it’s the latter. Perhaps that’s why I’m writing you.”
– Alejandra Pizarnik (1936—1972), from a letter to her psychoanalyst, León Ostrov, dated December 27, 1960, in: “Three letters from Alejandra Pizarnik to León Ostrov” by Emily Cooke (https://www.musicandliterature.org/)
“You write that you find everything bewildering, in confusion… It is good for things to be confused, very good! It indicates that you are a philosopher, a smart woman.”
– Anton Chekhov (1860—1904), from a letter to his future wife, Olga Knipper (1868—1959), Yalta, dated September 8, 1900, in: “The Selected Letters of Anton Chekhov”, translated from the Russian by Sidonie Lederer
“It’s not consolation that I seek, however, it’s seeing him, and in dreams I tend to have him, and in sensations of his being present in
wakefulness as well, and I go on living from what I receive from both things, and from nothing more than this.”
– Gabriela Mistral (1889—1957), from a letter to Victoria Ocampo (1890—1979), Rio De Janeiro, Brasil, dated 26 October, 1943, in: “This America Of Ours. The Letters of Gabriela Mistral and Victoria Ocampo”, translated by Elizabeth Horan and Doris Meyer
“When you sit in your study reading a book – think of me. I have been deprived of that happiness for two and a half months now.”
– Mikhail Bulgakov (1891—1940), from a letter to his friend Pavel Popov, from the sanatorium at Barvikha to Moscow, dated December 1, 1939, in: “Manuscripts don’t burn: Mikhail Bulgakov, a life in letters and diaries”, edited by J.A.R.Curtis
“‘I would like, oh, I really would like, to be able to swim away in my tears’.”
– Etty Hillesum (1914—1943), probably in a letter to Father Han and friends, from a Westerbork transit camp for Jews, quoiting some woman’s words at the camp, dated August 24, 1943, in: “An Interrupted Life: Diaries and Letters 1941—43. And Letters from Westerbork”, translated from the Dutch by Arnold J. Pomerans
“I would not quit you for all the women in the world. You are the soul of my life, my very existence, and it is all because you love me and have warmed it to life, the bruised and broken ruins of my bosom.”
– Nathaniel Dawson (1829—1895), from a letter to Elodie Todd (1840—1877), Camp Davis, Lynchburg, dated May 11, 1861, in: “Practical Strangers. The Courtship Correspondence of Nathaniel Dawson and Elodie Todd, Sister of Mary Todd Lincoln”, edited by Stephen Berry and Angela Esco Elder
“I love you… I need you. You can help me more than anyone on earth.
Forgive me for the things I do not know, the things I can not fight alone, the things I haven’t understood. You know better than anyone else how stupid and unwise I am, how I must battle the darkness within my self. No one else would help me. No one else would care as you care. No one else would even try to understand. The door is never closed between us… Only the ugly shadow of my self stands in the way now.”
– Langston Hughes (1902—1967), from a letter to Charlotte Mason, in: “The Life of Langston Hughes: Volume I: 1902—1941, I, Too, Sing, America”, by Arnold Rampersad
“… you are punishing me with your silence, or even by wrenching me out of your heart because of my egoism, because my feelings are only ‘words, words, words,’ ‘literature’; if they were real, I would have proven my love in deeds and not in sighs recorded on paper.”
– Boris Pasternak (1890—1960), from a letter to Olga Freidenberg (1890—1955), Moscow, dated June 29, 1948, in: “The Correspondence of Boris Pasternak and Olga Freidenberg, 1910—1954″, translated from the Russian by Elliott Mossman and Margaret Wettlin
“Nothing in the world could give me a greater thrill than to take you (roundabout expression) or even just feel your secret parts… each letter, each photo, only increases appetites. You can appreciate that, can’t you?”
– Henry Miller (1891—1980), from a letter to Brenda Venus (born 1947), dated July 15, 1976, in: “Dear, Dear Brenda: The Love Letters of Henry Miller to Brenda Venus”
“A work of art is useless as a flower is useless. A flower blossoms for its own joy. We gain a moment of joy by looking at it. That is all that is to be said about our relations to flowers. Of course man may sell the flower, and so make it useful to him, but this has nothing to do with the flower. It is not part of its essence. It is accidental. It is a misuse.”
– Oscar Wilde (1854—1900), from a letter to Bernulf Clegg, dated 1891, in: “Oscar Wilde: A Life In Letters” by Merlin Holland
“… no sort of literature can surpass real life in its cynicism; you cannot intoxicate with one glassful a person who has already drunk his way through a whole barrel.”
– Anton Chekhov (1860—1904), from a letter to Maria Kiseleva, Moscow, dated January 14, 1887, in: “The Selected Letters of Anton Chekhov”, translated from the Russian by Sidonie Lederer
“The wind is careless – uncertain – I like the wind – it seems more like me than anything else – I like the way it blows things around – roughly – even meanly – then the next minute seems to love everything – some days is amazingly quiet.”
– Georgia O’Keeffe (1887—1886), from a letter to Alfred Stieglitz (1864—1946), Canyon, Texas, October 1, 1917, in: “My Faraway One. Selected Letters of Georgia O’Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz. Volume 1, 1915—1933″
“How such love and warmth do us good and how sad that they don’t go on to set people on fire the way hate and other bad characteristics do! How strange that weeds are more fertile than good plants.”
– Mining (a sister), from a letter to Ludwig Wittgenstein (1889—1951), Vienna XVII. Neuwaldeggerstrasse 38, dated August 6, 1919, in: “Wittgensten’s Family letters. Corresponding with Ludwig”, translated by Peter Winslow
“How terrible is this, our first encounter; I dreaded it. Perhaps for that reason I did not come…”
– Olga Freidenberg (1890—1955), from a letter to Boris Pasternak (1890—1960), Leningrad, dated October 11, 1946, in: “The Correspondence of Boris Pasternak and Olga Freidenberg, 1910—1954″, translated from the Russian by Elliott Mossman and Margaret Wettlin
“How can I explain to you, my happiness, my golden, wonderful happiness, how much I am all yours – with all my memories, poems, outbursts, inner whirlwinds? Or explain that I cannot write a word without hearing how you will pronounce it – and can’t recall a single trifle I’ve lived through without regret – so sharp! – that we haven’t lived through it together – whether it’s the most, the most personal, intransmissible – or only some sunset or other at the bend of a road – you see what I mean, my happiness?”
– Vladimir Nabokov (1899—1977), from a letter to Vera Nabokov (1902—1991), Berlin, dated November 8, 1923, in: “Letters to Vera”, edited and translated from the Russian by Olga Voronina and Brian Boyd
“I wish you were here – or I were there – or something – I don’t know what – ”
– Georgia O’Keeffe (1887—1886), from a letter to Alfred Stieglitz (1864—1946), Canyon, Texas, dated October 1, 1917, in: “My Faraway One. Selected Letters of Georgia O’Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz. Volume 1, 1915—1933″
“…You do not sound very exhilarated with life, my poor Bronio…. Don’t think I don’t know how much my being ill weighs upon you. I wish sometimes you could [word missing: realise?] how much difference to me your way of taking it makes – I mean the knowledge that I am not having to bear something all alone, in a darkness of misunderstanding and indifference, as I know many people do. And yet I am always [word missing: happy?] when I think you can forget it for a minute and feel care-free if only for a little while…”
– Elsie Rosaline Masson (1890—1935), from a letter to Bronislaw Malinowski (1884—1942), Oyenhausen, dated June 2, 1933, in: “The Story of a Marriage. The Letters of Bronislaw Malinowski and Elsie Masson.”
“To be loved is something of which I have not mastered the art.”
– Marina Tsvetaeva (Russian, 1892—1941), from a letter to Alexander Bakhrah (1902—1985), dated 1924, in: “Marina Tsvetaeva” by Elaine Feinstein (Cardinal Points Magazine #12, Volume 1, 2010)
“Do you know what it is to succumb under an insurmountable day-mare, – ‘a whoreson lethargy,’ Falstaff calls it, – an indisposition to do anything, or to be anything, – a total deadness and distaste, – a suspension of vitality, – an indifference to locality, – a numb, soporifical, good-for-nothingness, – an ossification all over, – an oyster-like insensibility to the passing events, – a mind-stupor, – a brawny defiance to the needles of a thrusting-in conscience.”
– Charles Lamb (1775—1834), from a letter to Bernard Barton (1784—1849), dated January 9, 1824, in: “The Works Of Charles Lamb: The letters If Charles Lamb, With A Sketch Of His Life. The Poetical Works”
“I received your letter and sensed, not so much from your words as from the letter itself, how seriously unwell you are, and how troubled
your spirits are.”
– Vikenty Veresayev (1867—1945), from a letter to Mikhail Bulgakov (1891—1940), Moscow, dated August 12, 1931, in: “Manuscripts don’t burn: Mikhail Bulgakov, a life in letters and diaries”, edited by J.A.R.Curtis
“How I would love to see you again in that room where you have in front of your window, a garden, a town, a whole immense and minute landscape held in the glass; perspective with its infinite contraction of scale is the most ingenious art of the Japanese gardeners.”
– Marcel Proust (1871—1922), from a letter to Anna de Noailles (1876—1933), dated 1912 (http://theesotericcuriosa.blogspot.com/)
“… there are moments in which silence acts as a poison – and as it has been forced upon me, at least as far as my voice would reach, you too will now be confronted with it, and will not wish to withdraw from it.”
– Walter Benjamin (1892—1940), from a letter to Gretel Adorno (1902—1993), Paris, dated February 10, 1935, in: “Gretel Adorno and Walter Benjamin. Correspondence 1930—1940″, translated from the German by Wieland Hoban
“I want to tell you, my love, that I am so utterly and completely happy with you. I am no longer capable of answering your sweet letters adequately, I lack the words but in my mind I turn the words into actions, I take you in my arms and say to you that I love you dearly and passionately and that I long immeasurably for you. God protect you, keep well and cheerful and happy.”
– Marie Bader (1886—1942), from a letter to Ernst Löwy (1880—1943), Karlín, dated September 19, 1941, in: “Life and Love in Nazi Prague. Letters from an Occupied City. Marie Bader”, translated by Kate Ottevange
“I want to write you and I have nothing in particular to say but I want to write anyway”
– Georgia O’Keeffe (1887—1886), from a letter to Alfred Stieglitz (1864—1946), Canyon, Texas, dated October 1, 1917, in: “My Faraway One. Selected Letters of Georgia O’Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz. Volume 1, 1915—1933″
“So, love, do not be too unhappy with me when I am tired out; it will certainly be better when you are here…”
– Elisabeth Heisenberg (1914—1998), from a letter to Werner Heisenberg (1901—1976), Urfeld, dated May 26, 1946, in: “My Dear Li. Werner and Elisabeth Heisenberg. Correspondence 1937—1946″, translated from the German by Irene Heisenberg
“Sweetheart – I miss you so – I love you so – and next time I’m going back with you – I’m absolutely nothing without you – Just the doll that I should have been born. You’re a necessity and a luxury and a darling, precious lover – ”
– Zelda Fitzgerald (1900—1948), from a letter to Francis Scott Fitzgerald (1896—1940), Montgomery, Alabama, dated February, 1920, in: “Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda. The Love Letters of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald”
“I miss you very much. Life is terribly empty not to say dull. I wonder how much I still really matter to you….”
– Elsie Rosaline Masson (1890—1935), from a letter to Bronislaw Malinowski (1884—1942), dated May 10, 1932, in: “The Story of a Marriage. The Letters of Bronislaw Malinowski and Elsie Masson.”
“My whole being seething into desire to be embraced to sleep – by anyone that has soft skin – & gentle arms.”
– Georgia O’Keeffe (1887—1886), from a letter to Alfred Stieglitz (1864—1946), New York City, October 10, 1917, in: “My Faraway One. Selected Letters of Georgia O’Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz. Volume 1, 1915—1933″
“You have made me so rich, oh God, please let me share out Your beauty with open hands. My life has become an uninterrupted dialogue with You, oh God, one great dialogue.”
– Etty Hillesum (1914—1943), from a letter to Tide, from a Westerbork transit camp for Jews, dated August 18, 1943, in: “An Interrupted Life: Diaries and Letters 1941—43. And Letters from Westerbork”, translated from the Dutch by Arnold J. Pomerans
“I am wondering a great deal about how it came about that I love you so passionately and have such a burning desire to give so much love. In my whole life I was rarely asked whether I wanted to give as much as to receive. It is quite different with you. You are an absolute master, you know how to reach my weakest points and that is why you will get further. I feel as if there was some unopened reservoir there which you discovered and which belongs only to you. You have enticed another secret out of me, you bad one, but enough for now! I kiss your beloved eyes, your cheeks, your forehead and then five times your mouth, hug you warmly and lovingly…”
– Marie Bader (1886—1942), from a letter to Ernst Löwy (1880—1943), Karlín, September 13, 1941, in: “Life and Love in Nazi Prague. Letters from an Occupied City. Marie Bader”, translated by Kate Ottevange
“I wanted to set out everything that’s been happening to me in a detailed letter, but my exhaustion and sense of hopelessness are too great. I can’t write anything.”
– Mikhail Bulgakov (1891—1940), from a letter to Aleksey Gorky, Moscow, dated September 3, 1929, in: “Manuscripts don’t burn: Mikhail Bulgakov, a life in letters and diaries”, edited by J.A.R.Curtis
“Ah! Come, come, and you will be received with all the affection which infatuation and esteem
can combine.”
– Germaine de Staël (1766 -1817), from a letter to Don Pedro de Souza, Florence, dated May 14, 1805, in: “Madame de Staël. Selected correspondence”, translated from the French by Kathleen Jameson-Cemper
“I work with absolute lack of focus. But that, apparently, is the reason for my success. I think about the most distant things while my hands and something – who knows what – merges with the task before me. I’m far away, and nevertheless the work gets done.”
– Alejandra Pizarnik (1936—1972), from a letter to her psychoanalyst, León Ostrov, dated December 27, 1960, in: “Three letters from Alejandra Pizarnik to León Ostrov” by Emily Cooke (https://www.musicandliterature.org/)
“My heart will leap up every time I receive a letter from you, but the expectation and the knowledge that you have written in your own good time will increase my pleasure.”
– Giacomo Leopardi (1798—1837), from a letter to Pietro Giordani (1774—1848), Recanati, dated March 21, 1817, in: “The Letters of Giacomo Leopardi 1817—1837″. Selected and translatedfrom the Italian by Prue Shaw
“… Dearest, dearest – my own sweetheart! What can I do for you, here, from the distance? Believe me, it is torture to be separated from you, and a poisonous feeling all the time…”
– Bronislaw Malinowski (1884—1942), from a letter to Elsie Rosaline Masson (1890—1935), dated January 16, 1929, in: “The Story of a Marriage. The Letters of Bronislaw Malinowski and Elsie Masson”
“I am sorry about what appears to you in effect as my bitch-like behaviour. I don’t know what to say. You know I am deeply attached to you, and that attachment has survived shocks, misadventures and time. I think it is pretty strong and solid, and its continuance means a lot to me.”
– Iris Murdoch (1919—1999), from a letter to Brigid Brophy (1929—1995), dated March 18, 1960, in: “Living on Paper: Letters of Iris Murdoch, 1934—1995”
“Why can’t we live together, why is life always so badly arranged?”
– Gustave Flaubert (1821—1880), from a letter to George Sand (1804—1876), dated April 23, 1873, in: “The George Sand-Gustave Flaubert Letters”, translated from the French by A.L. McKenzie
“And now, good night, my sweet boy. I am falling asleep beside you. 1000 loving kisses…”
– Marie Bader (1886—1942), from a letter to Ernst Löwy (1880—1943), Karlín, dated September 19, 1941, in: “Life and Love in Nazi Prague. Letters from an Occupied City. Marie Bader”, translated by Kate Ottevange
“Listen, my happiness – you won’t say again that I’m torturing you?”
– Vladimir Nabokov (1899—1977), from a letter to Vera Nabokov (1902—1991), Prague, dated November 8, 1923, in: “Letters to Vera”, edited and translated from the Russian by Olga Voronina and Brian Boyd
“ – I have written you at least forty letters during the last two weeks – all forty going into the fire. They seemed like so much nothing…”
– Alfred Stieglitz (1864—1946), from a letter to Georgia O’Keeffe (1887—1986), Lake George, New York, dated July 1, 1929, in: “My Faraway One. Selected Letters of Georgia O’Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz. Volume 1, 1915—1933″
“We used to walk together, people envied us – and yet you only talked about your family happiness – and I about my unhappiness.”
– Leos Janacek (1854—1928), from a letter to Kamila Stosslova (1891—1935), dated July 24, 1917, in: “Intimate Letters: Leoš Janáček to Kamila Janáček”, translated by John Tyrrell
“It is late again. I am going to go to sleep and dream most beautifully of you. I kiss you lovingly, good night, be healthy and happy.”
– Marie Bader (1886—1942), from a letter to Ernst Löwy (1880—1943), Karlín, dated September 13, 1941, in: “Life and Love in Nazi Prague. Letters from an Occupied City. Marie Bader”, translated by Kate Ottevange
“Between me and life there is a mist of words always.”
– Oscar Wilde (1854—1900), from a letter to Arthur Conan Doyle (1859—1930), dated? April 1891, in: “Oscar Wilde: A Life In Letters” by Merlin Holland
“My day is gone into twilight, and I don’t think it worth the expense of candles.”
– Charles Lamb (1775—1834), from a letter to Bernard Barton (1784—1849), dated January 9, 1824, in: “The Works Of Charles Lamb: The letters If Charles Lamb, With A Sketch Of His Life. The Poetical Works”
“You make me soft (humanize, feminize, animalize) like fur.”
– Marina Tsvetaeva (1892—1941), from a letter to Abram Vishnyak (1895—1943), in: “Nine Letters with a Tenth Kept Back and an Eleventh Received”, quoted in: “Readings: The Poetics of Blanchot, Joyce, Kafka, Kleist, Lispector, and Tsvetayeva” by H. Cixous
