What are the words of love, how to choose the best among one hundred thousand phrases and ways of saying, to convey the greatest feeling that can be experienced on an emotional level.
Thoughts and words of love
- The man who loves the truth is better than the one who knows it, and the man who finds happiness is wiser than the one who only knows it. (Confucius)
- I walked with my head full of you. Your portrait and the heady evening spent together yesterday left my senses in turmoil. Sweet, incomparable, what strange effect you have on my heart! But what is left to me when I draw from your lips and from your heart a love that consumes me like fire? (Napoleon Bonaparte to Josephine Beauharnais)
- Only you have the power to make me sad or give me joy and comfort. My love has reached such heights of madness that he stole from himself what he most desired .... At your nod, I immediately changed my dress and my thoughts, to show you that you are the only master of my body and my will . (Eloisa to Abelardo)
- My dear girl, I love you again and again and without reservations ... In every possible way; even my jealousies were only agonies of love, in the most intense pangs I have ever experienced, I would have died for you. You always new. The last of your kisses was the sweetest, the last smile the brightest, the last movement the most graceful. (John Keats to Fanny Brawne)
- And now you belong to me! I see you as my young wife, and then mother, but always the same, sweet and adored in the chastity of married life as in the virginity of our first love. Tell me if you can understand the happiness of an immortal love, of an eternal union. (Victor Hugo to Adèle Foucher)
- When two souls finally found each other, they found each other compatible and complementary, they understood that they were made for each other, to be, therefore, alike, a fiery and pure bond was established between them forever like them, a bond that begins on earth and continues forever in the heavens ... This is the love that you inspire in me. (Victor Hugo to Adèle Foucher)
- If you knew how much I long for you, how much the memory of the last night leaves me delirious with joy and overflowing with desire. How much I long to give myself entirely to you in the ecstasy of your sweet breath and those kisses that fill me with pleasure from your lips! I need your love as the cornerstone of my existence. It is the sun that blows life in me. (Juliette Drouet to Victor Hugo)
- There can be no greater happiness than the one I felt with you this afternoon, wrapped in your arms. Your voice mixed with mine, your eyes in mine, your heart above my heart, our very souls merged together. For me, there is no other man on earth than you. I perceive others only through your love. I don't enjoy anything without you. You are the prism through which the sunlight, the green of the woods, and life itself appear to me. I need your kisses on my lips, your love on my soul. (Juliette Drouet to Victor Hugo)
- My heart is overflowing with emotion and joy! I don't know what heavenly languor, infinite pleasure fills it and pardons me. It is as if I have never loved !!! All this can only come from you, sister, angel, woman. It can only be, certainly not, nothing more than a delicate ray from your ardent soul, or some secret and heartbreaking tear that you left long ago on my chest. (Franz Liszt to Marie d’Agoult)
- Born under different skies, we have neither the same thoughts nor the same language; do we have hearts that look alike? The mild and cloudy climate from which I come has left me with kind and melancholic impressions; What passions has the generous sun that tanned your forehead instilled in you? I know how to love and suffer, and you, what do you know about love? The ardor of your eyes, the violent grasp of your arms, the fervor of your desire, tempt me and frighten me. You don't love each other like that in my country. Beside you I am nothing but a pale statue looking at you with desire, concern and amazement. I don't know if you love me sincerely, I will never know. You can barely say a few words in my language and I don't know enough of yours to penetrate such mysterious matters. Perhaps, even if I knew the language you speak perfectly, I would not be able to make myself understood. The place where we lived, the people who taught us, are undoubtedly the reasons why we have mutually inexplicable ideas, feelings and needs. My weak nature and your ardent temperament must produce very different thoughts. You must ignore, or despise, the thousands of insignificant sufferings that upset me, you must laugh at what makes me cry. Maybe you don't even know what tears are.What would you be for me: a support or a master? Would you console me for the evils I suffered before meeting you? Do you understand why I am sad? Do you understand compassion, patience and friendship? Maybe you were brought up with the idea that women have no soul. Do you think we have it? You are neither a Christian nor a Muslim, you are not a civilized man or a barbarian, are you therefore a man? What is hidden in that masculine breast, behind that superb forehead, those lion eyes? Do you ever have a noble, fine thought, a brotherly and pious feeling? When you sleep, do you dream of flying to heaven? When men hurt you, do you still believe in God? Will I be your partner or your slave? Do you want me or do you love me? When I make you happy, will you know how to tell me? Do you know what I am and do you worry about not knowing it? For you, am I an unknown being to aspire to and dream of, or in your eyes am I one of those women who gain weight in harems? In your eyes, where I think I see a divine spark, is there only the lust that those women inspire? Do you know that desire of the soul that time does not turn off, that no excess softens or wears out? When your lover sleeps in your arms do you stay awake to watch over her, to pray to God and cry? Do the pleasures of love leave you exhausted and brutalized, or transport you into a divine ecstasy? Does your soul overwhelm your body when you leave the breast of the one you love? Ah, when I observe you restrained and quiet, will I understand if you are thoughtful or if you rest instead?
When your eyes fade, will it be out of tenderness or exhaustion? Perhaps you will realize that I don't know you and that you don't know me. I know neither your past life nor your character, nor what men who know you think of you. Perhaps among them you are the first, or perhaps the last. I love you without knowing if I can esteem you, I love you because I like you, and maybe someday I will be forced to hate you. If you were a man from my country, I would ask you questions and you would understand me. Maybe I would be even more unhappy because you would deceive me. So, at least you won't deceive me, you won't make me vain promises and false vows. You will love me for what you understand about love, for what you can love.
What I have sought in vain in others I will probably not find in you, but I can always believe that you have it. Those looks, those caresses of love that in others have always lied to me, you will let them interpret them as desire, without adding deceptive words. I will be able to interpret your dreamy arias and fill your silences of eloquence. I will attribute to your actions the intentions that I desire. When you look at me with tenderness, I will think that your soul is watching mine, when you glance at the sky I will believe that your mind turns to the eternity from which it arose. Let us remain this way, do not learn my language and I will not search in yours, words to express my doubts and fears. I want to ignore what you do with your life and what part you play among your fellow men. I don't even want to know your name. Hide your soul from me so I can always think it is beautiful. (George Sand pseudonym of Andine Aurore Lucile Dupin)
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- Are you just asking me a simple "yes"? A word so small, but so important. How could a heart full of ineffable love what is my not saying this little word with all its strength? He says it and my most secret soul just whispering to you. I could describe the pains of my heart, the many tears, oh no! Maybe fate will want us to see you again soon and then ... Your proposals seem risky to me, but a heart in love does not take into account the dangers. Once again I say "yes", that God wants to turn my eighteenth birthday into a day of affliction? Oh no! It would be too horrible. Furthermore, for some time now I have felt that "it must be so", nothing in the world will persuade me to move away from what I believe is right and I will show my father that a very young heart can also be resolved in its purposes. (Clara Wieck to Robert Schumann)
- Dearest, I cried for joy thinking that you are mine, and I often wonder if I really deserve you. Some might think that in the heart and mind of no man many things could crowd in one day ... .. But how happy I felt yesterday and the day before yesterday! From your letters hovered such a noble spirit, a faith, a wealth of love! What would I not do for your sake! (Robert Schumann to Clara Wieck)
- Dearest, I would like to possess the gift of poetry, so that I feel there is poetry in my mind and heart from the day I fell in love with you. You are a Poem ... You are a sort of ballad, sweet, simple, cheerful, moving, that Nature sings, now crying, now smiling and sometimes mixing tears and smiles. (Nathaniel Hawthorne to Sophia Hawthorne)
- What a year it has been for us! My definition of Beauty is that it is love, yet it also implies truth and good. But only those who love as we love can understand the meaning and strength of all this. (Sophia Hawthorne to Nathaniel Hawthorne)
- You know, when you told me to marry you, I was ashamed of what I think of you, of thinking only of you, which is even too much, perhaps. Do I have to tell you? I have the impression, it seems to me, that no man has ever been to a woman what you are to me ... There has never been someone taken from a dark prison and placed on the top of a mountain, without turning his head and heart that is failing, as happens to mine? And you say you love me more? Who should I thank then, you or God? Both, I think ... (Elizabeth Barret to Robert Browning)
- Flowering more and more beautiful, fresher, more graceful, because it is true love, and because true love always grows. It is a beautiful plant that grows from year to year in the heart, always extending its branches, doubling its heady bunches and perfumes every season: and, my life, tell me, always tell me that nothing will spoil its bark or its leaves delicate, which will grow bigger in both our hearts, loved, free, cared for, like a life within our lives. (Honoré de Balzac to E. Hanska)
- I went to a concert and heard your Slavic March. I could not express my impressions by listening to it: pure happiness filled my eyes with tears. I felt an unspeakable joy at the idea that the author was in a certain sense my own, that he belonged to me, that no one could take it away from me. For the first time since I know you, I have heard one of your works in an unusual environment. In the Nobility room, in a certain sense I feel many rivals, I feel that you prefer many friends. But there, in that new scenario, surrounded by strangers, I had the feeling that you couldn't belong to anyone with the same fullness with which you belonged to me and that no one could rival me. "Here I own it and love it." Excuse me for this delusion and do not fear my jealousy, all this does not bind you in anything, it concerns me and will end with me. I ask you nothing more than what you already give me, except perhaps a small change of shape. I'd like you to treat me like you usually do with friends, giving me "you". Writing shouldn't be difficult; but if you find it embarrassing, I will give it up, because as we are I am happy, indeed you can be blessed for the happiness I owe you. A moment ago I wanted to tell you that I embrace you with all my heart, but perhaps it might seem strange to you, so I say to you as usual: goodbye, my sweet friend. If it seems inconvenient, do not read anything other than the delusion of an abnormal imagination over-excited by music. You are never surprised by these paroxysms of mine: my mind is really sick. (Naieda von Meck to P.I. Ciaikovskij)
- You asked me to write briefly, but I have many things to say. You also asked me to think that the affection I have for you is dictated by a whim. It cannot be a whim since in the last year you have constituted the object on which I was meditating in every solitary moment. I don't expect you to love me, I don't deserve your love. I feel that you are superior, yet to my surprise, indeed with my happiness, you have let passions that I thought no longer lived in your chest. Why should I experience the lack of happiness with pain? Why should I reject it while being offered to me? Maybe I wore you imprudent, immoral; my hateful opinions, my depraved ideas; but at least one thing time will show, that my love is delicate and devoted, that I am incapable of any feeling approaching revenge or malevolence; your future wishes will be mine, and whatever you say or do, I will not ask questions, I assure you. Do you have any objections to the following plan? On Thursday evening, we could go out of town together with a stagecoach or a post office, at a distance of ten or twelve miles. There we would be free and unknown; we could return early the next morning. I arranged everything here so as not to raise the slightest suspicion. Please do the same with your family members. Will you accept me holding you a couple of minutes with you? Where is it? I won't stop for a moment when you tell me to leave. Only, so many things can be said and done in a short meeting that writing cannot implement. Do what you want, or go where you want, refuse to meet me and behave in a cruel way, I will never forget you. I will always remember the kindness of your manners and the wild originality of the face. Seen once, you cannot be forgotten. Maybe this is the last time I turn to you. So let me reassure you once again, I'm not ungrateful. You have done everything with the utmost gentleness, and I am only irritated that my awkward ways have prevented me from expressing this feeling in person. Will you welcome me now that I'm waiting for your answer at Hamilton Place? (Jane Clairmont to Lord Byron)
- Love should run towards love with open arms, step by step, with trembling awareness, as well as a couple of children who dare to venture together in a very dark room. From the first moment when they see each other, with a pang of curiosity, they can read the expression of their torment in each other's eyes. In this case there is no proper statement; the feeling is so naturally shared, that as soon as the man realizes what is in his heart he is sure of what is in the woman's heart. (R.L. Stevenson)
- Today a new sun is born for me; everything lives, everything is animated, everything seems to speak of my passion, everything invites me to enjoy it. The fire that consumes me gives my heart, to all the faculties of my mind, an impious, a profuse ductility in all affections. Since I love you, friends are dearer to me. Since I love you, I love myself more; and so it is that with this new love of mine, even the sound of my lute now seems to me more moving, as well as my voice more harmonious and my song more pure. (N. de Lenclos to the Marquis of Sévigny)
- I say I'm in love with her. What does it mean? It means that I see my future and past in the light of this feeling. It is as if I were writing in a distant foreign language that I am now suddenly able to read. Without a word, she explains it to myself. Like a genius, ignore what he does. (J. Winterson)
- When I think of you, it's as if I was thinking about life. You will be the first woman to make the earth pleasant to me, you are as strong and pink as the gates of paradise. None of us, not many, perhaps, come from a sunny childhood paradise. We were born with our parents in the desert and we yearn for Canaan. You are like Canaan: you are rich and fruitful and happy, and I love you. (D.H. Lawrence to L.Burrows)
- You are always new. The last of your kisses is always sweeter; your last smile the most radiant; the last movement the most graceful. When you passed the window of my house yesterday, I was full of admiration as if I had seen you for the first time. One day you complained that I only loved your beauty. So I have nothing else to love in you? Do I not realize that a naturally winged heart is chained more to me every hour? (J.Keats to F. Brawne)
- I have searched in every corner of the world for the most beautiful things to offer, I have not found them and I do not know where to find them; I understood that nothing is worth like your love and I would give nothing in exchange for your smile, your kiss, your thought. Then ask me what you want, I will give you everything just to show you that I am not at your level. (Fran Tarel)
