“That was not what she needed. What she needed was a love that would absorb her whole being, her reason, her whole soul, that would give her ideas, an object in life, that would warm her very blood.”
— Anton Chekhov, from Complete Works of Anton Chekhov; “The Darling,”
“I would nestle close to your warm heart, and never hear the wind blow, or the storm beat, again,”
— Emily Dickinson, from a letter to Susan Gilbert written c. June 1852
“Do you remember a night when I came along the dark passage to your room in a thunderstorm and we lay talking about whether we were afraid of death or not? That is the sort of occasion on which the things I want to say to you,–and to you only,–get said.”
— Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Vita Sackville-West written c. June 1933 (via violentwavesofemotion)
to be drowsy
with love—
if you are the sun,
let me be heavy
with light,
with warmth.
“Je n'ai rien à te dire sinon que ce rien, c'est à toi que je le dis.”
—
Roland Barthes, Fragments d'un discours amoureux
(via causeries-litteraires)
