Classic Love Letters

After my conversation with my girl friend, I decided to collect love letters.

Letter 1-

My beloved angel,

Just the thought of writing to you puts a smile on my face and my heart because of the memory of your love. There are a million reasons why I love you and I could never get a tender, kind, trustworthy, caring and understanding friend and companion.  Your concern keeps me going, making my heart yearn for you; your touch, your smile, your kiss… I love everything that comes with your package.

I love you a million times over and nothing will ever change that.

Lots of love,

.......

Letter 2-

Love Letter from Franz Kafka to Felice Bauer
(November 11, 1912)

 

Fräulein Felice! 

I am now going to ask you a favor which sounds quite crazy, and which I should regard as such, were I the one to receive the letter. It is also the very greatest test that even the kindest person could be put to. Well, this is it: 

Write to me only once a week, so that your letter arrives on Sunday—for I cannot endure your daily letters, I am incapable of enduring them. For instance, I answer one of your letters, then lie in bed in apparent calm, but my heart beats through my entire body and is conscious only of you. I belong to you; there is really no other way of expressing it, and that is not strong enough. But for this very reason I don’t want to know what you are wearing; it confuses me so much that I cannot deal with life; and that’s why I don’t want to know that you are fond of me. If I did, how could I, fool that I am, go on sitting in my office, or here at home, instead of leaping onto a train with my eyes shut and opening them only when I am with you?... 

Letter 3-

Love Letter from Victor Hugo to Adele Foucher
(1821) 

My dearest, 

When two souls, which have sought each other for, however long in the throng, have finally found each other ...a union, fiery and pure as they themselves are... begins on earth and continues forever in heaven. 

This union is love, true love, ... a religion, which deifies the loved one, whose life comes from devotion and passion, and for which the greatest sacrifices are the sweetest delights. 

This is the love which you inspire in me... Your soul is made to love with the purity and passion of angels; but perhaps it can only love another angel, in which case I must tremble with apprehension. 

Yours forever,

Victor Hugo

Letter 4- 

 Love Letter from John Keats to Fanny Brawne

March 1820 

Sweetest Fanny, 

You fear, sometimes, I do not love you so much as you wish?

My dear Girl,

I love you ever and ever and without reserve. The more I have known you the more have I lov'd. In every way - even my jealousies have been agonies of Love, in the hottest fit I ever had I would have died for you. I have vex'd you too much. But for Love! Can I help it? You are always new. The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest. When you pass'd my window home yesterday, I was fill'd with as much admiration as if I had then seen you for the first time. You uttered a half complaint once that I only lov'd your Beauty. Have I nothing else then to love in you but that? Do not I see a heart naturally furnish'd with wings imprison itself with me? No ill prospect has been able to turn your thoughts a moment from me. This perhaps should be as much a subject of sorrow as joy - but I will not talk of that. Even if you did not love me I could not help an entire devotion to you: how much more deeply then must I feel for you knowing you love me. My Mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it. I never felt my Mind repose upon anything with complete and undistracted enjoyment - upon no person but you. When you are in the room my thoughts never fly out of window: you always concentrate my whole senses. The anxiety shown about our Love in your last note is an immense pleasure to me; however you must not suffer such speculations to molest you any more: not will I any more believe you can have the least pique against me. Brown is gone out -- but here is Mrs Wylie -- when she is gone I shall be awake for you.

 Remembrances to your Mother.

Your affectionate, J. Keats