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John Keats

My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you – I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again – my Life seems to stop there – I see no further. You have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving – I should be… Continue reading John Keats

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Kahlil Gibran

Hearts united in pain and sorrow will not be separated by joy and happiness. Bonds that are woven in sadness are stronger than the ties of joy and pleasure. Love that is washed by tears will remain eternally pure and faithful. ― Kahlil Gibran, Love Letters in the Sand: The Love Poems of Kahlil Gibran.… Continue reading Kahlil Gibran

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Autobiographical · Biographical · Classic · Collection · Confessional · Correspondence · Epistolary · Excerpt · German Culture · German Literature · Modernism · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote

Franz Kafka

By the way, do you know the joys of being alone, walking alone, lying in the sun alone? Which doesn’t mean I have anything against doing things in twos, and not much against doing them in threes. But what a joy it is for the tormented, for heart and head! Do you know what I… Continue reading Franz Kafka

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Emily Dickinson

When the best is gone, I know that other things are not of consequence. The heart wants what it wants, or else it does not care. — Emily Dickinson, Letters of Emily Dickinson: Volume I. (Forgotten Books, November 16, 2016) Originally published September 12th 2013.

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Kahlil Gibran

The resting place of my soul is a beautiful grove where my knowledge of you lives. ― Kahlil Gibran, Beloved Prophet: The Love Letters of Kahlil Gibran and Mary Haskell, and Her Private Journal. (Knopf; 1st edition, February 12, 1972)

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Autobiographical · Biographical · Classic · Collection · Confessional · Correspondence · Epistolary · Excerpt · Modernism · Paraphrase · Passage · Postmodernism · Quote · Russian Culture · Russian Literature

Vladimir Nabokov

You came into my life — not as one comes to visit … but as one comes to a kingdom where all the rivers have been waiting for your reflection, all the roads, for your steps. — Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Véra, ed. and transl. Olga Voronina and Brian Boyd (Alfred A. Knopf, 2014)

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