“I can’t explain why you don’t write to me.
I haven’t done anything to you, I haven’t wanted anything from you. I really don’t know. That I nevertheless write to you is because of memories…
I have nothing more than memories – well then, so I live in them.”
– Leos Janacek (1854—1928), from a letter to Kamila Stosslova (1891—1935), dated September 2, 1918, in: “Intimate Letters: Leoš Janáček to Kamila Janáček”, translated by John Tyrrell
“Of course I can’t help thinking much of the future – Winters & summers. – Every-
thing. But above all – Always you – US. – You come first. – And have come first even when you believed you didn’t – & perhaps I made you feel you didn’t. – ”
– Alfred Stieglitz (1864—1946), from a letter to Georgia O’Keeffe (1887—1986), Lake George, New York, dated June 23, 1929, in: “My Faraway One. Selected Letters of Georgia O’Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz. Volume 1, 1915—1933
“I miss you, you know. I miss your lips, your hands, your whole warm and strong body, and your face and your smiles, your voice. I miss you. But I like missing you so hard because it makes me feel strongly that you are not a dream, you are real, you are living, and I’ll meet you again… I kiss your dear face, your sweet lips with the most loving kisses.”
– Simone de Beauvoir (1908—1986), from a letter to Nelson Algren (1909—1981), dated Friday, May 23, 1947, in: “A Transatlantic Love Affair. Letters to Nelson Algren” (https://archive.nytimes.com/)
“Last night I lay and complained bitterly to myself and longed for someone to come and take these cares off my shoulders.”
– Elsie Rosaline Masson (1890—1935), from a letter to Bronislaw Malinowski (1884—1942), dated September 28, 1927, in: “The Story of a Marriage. The Letters of Bronislaw Malinowski and Elsie Masson”
“… there is nothing more irksome or less poetic, one may say, than the prosaic struggle for existence which takes away the joy of life and drags one into apathy.”
– Anton Chekhov (1860—1904), from a letter to Lydia Mizinova (1870—1939), Yalta, dated July 11, 1893, in: “The Selected Letters of Anton Chekhov”, translated from the Russian by Sidonie Lederer
“I am in such a state of tiredness that I have – one could say aphasia – a kind of agraphia, and I don’t want to tire your beautiful eyes trying to decipher these meaningless hieroglyphics.”
– Marcel Proust (1871—1922), from a letter to Anna de Noailles (1876—1933), dated 1912 (http://theesotericcuriosa.blogspot.com/)
“… if I am more passionate than other people, that is just my pain, my suffering. Forgive me if I was in the way.”
– Leos Janacek (1854—1928), from a letter to Kamila Stosslova (1891—1935), dated July 16, 1917, in: “Intimate Letters: Leoš Janáček to Kamila Janáček”, translated by John Tyrrell
“I cannot force myself. To write to you means to make a difficult and unnatural gesture. There would be something artificial about it – a lie, in your opinion – and that would cause me pain. It would not be a letter to you but a manufactured product.”
– Boris Pasternak (1890—1960), from a letter to Olga Freidenberg (1890—1955), Moscow, September 20, 1911, in: “The Correspondence of Boris Pasternak and Olga Freidenberg, 1910—1954″, translated from the Russian by Elliott Mossman and Margaret Wettlin
“Dear little being,
I’m not going to write you a long letter, though I’ve hundreds of things to tell you, because I prefer to tell you them in person…”
– Simone de Beauvoir (1908—1986), from a letter to Jean-Paul Sartre (1905—1980), Albertville, dated July 27, 1938, in: “Letters to Sartre”, translated by Quintin Hoare
“Reconcile yourself to the idea that my letters to you will become frequent (although I repeat that this won’t last long, probably). I’m not much of a master when it comes to letters: you struggle and struggle, the words won’t come off the pen, and I can’t express my thoughts properly…”
– Mikhail Bulgakov (1891—1940), from a letter to his brother Nikolay Bulgakov (1898—1966), Moscow, February 21, 1930, in: “Manuscripts don’t burn: Mikhail Bulgakov, a life in letters and diaries”, edited by J.A.R.Curtis
“I owe the best days of my life and my deepest-felt emotions to literature.”
– Anton Chekhov (1860—1904), from a letter to his brother, Alexander Chekhov (1855—1913), Melikhovo, dated January 21, 1895, in: “The Selected Letters of Anton Chekhov”, translated from the Russian by Sidonie Lederer
“Dearest, I feel old, withered, as if my vitality had ebbed. Love me all the same please.”
– Elsie Rosaline Masson (1890—1935), from a letter to Bronislaw Malinowski (1884—1942), dated October 3, 1927, in: “The Story of a Marriage. The Letters of Bronislaw Malinowski and Elsie Masson”
“Thanks – thanks for all the letters – You are very – very sweet to me – It was nice to
have them even if they did make me sad.”
– Georgia O’Keeffe (1887—1986), from a letter to Alfred Stieglitz (1864—1946), Taos, New Mexico, dated June 30, 1929, in: “My Faraway One. Selected Letters of Georgia O’Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz. Volume 1, 1915—1933″
“In that dark year when I was crushed, and the cards suggested only one thing —
that I should put an end to it all and shoot myself – you came and lifted my spirits.”
– Mikhail Bulgakov (1891—1940), from a letter to Vikenty Veresayev (1867—1945), Moscow, dated July 22—28, 1931, in: “Manuscripts don’t burn: Mikhail Bulgakov, a life in letters and diaries”, edited by J.A.R.Curtis
“You are so lovely in character and appearance that in your company one’s spirits are lifted; you breathe warm-heartedness, you look on the world with such kindness that one wants to do only good and pleasant things for you in return. You will not believe how glad I am that I have met you.”
– Leos Janacek (1854—1928), from a letter to Kamila Stosslova (1891—1935), dated July 16, 1917, in: “Intimate Letters: Leoš Janáček to Kamila Janáček”, translated by John Tyrrell
“My whole life is a romance with my own soul.”
– Marina Tsvetaeva (1892—1941), from a letter to Pyotr Yurkevich (1889—1968), dated July 21, 1916, in: “A Russian Psyche: The Poetic Mind Of Marina Tsvetaeva” by Alyssa W. Dinega,
“I thought at first I would give my writing a miss today, because I’m so terribly tired, and also because I thought I had nothing to say just now. But of course I have a great deal to write about. I shall allow my thoughts free rein; you are bound to pick them up anyway.”
– Etty Hillesum (1914—1943), from a letter to Tidei, 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’d like