– 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 –