Hi everybody!!!!

First of all, I wanna thank you every favs and views that I've had in the last day. It was incredible when I saw my messages the last night and I saw that I had 100 favs and over 1000 views!!!! I couldn't believe it!!!! And you know that I always try to thank every fav that you give to me, but this time I can't do that as fast as usually, because the system think that I send spam messages and I can't response more than 20... I'm trying my best to thank all the favs, I only ask for patience...

THANK YOU ALL FOR FAV MY WORK!!!! YOU'VE MADE MY DAY!!!!!!!!

J'ai quelque chose de bête et de ridicule à vous dire. Je vous l'écris sottement au lieu de vous l'avoir dit, je ne sais pourquoi, en rentrant de cette promenade. J'en serai désolé, ce soir. Vous allez me rire au nez, me prendre pour un faiseur de phrases dans tous mes rapports avec vous jusqu'ici. Vous me mettrez à la porte et vous croirez que je mens.

Je suis amoureux de vous. Je le suis depuis le premier jour où j'ai été chez vous. J'ai cru que je m'en guérirais tout simplement en vous voyant à titre d'ami. Il y a beaucoup de choses dans votre caractère qui pouvaient m'en guérir ; j'ai tâché de me le persuader tant que j'ai pu ; mais je paye trop cher les moments que je passe avec vous. J'aime mieux vous le dire et j'ai bien fait, parce que je souffrirai bien moins pour m'en gué­rir à présent si vous me fermez votre porte. Cette nuit, pendant que [ces deux derniers mots ont été biffés à la plume par G. Sand, et la ligne suivante coupée aux ciseaux] ...
j'avais résolu de vous faire dire que j'étais à la campagne, mais je ne veux pas vous faire de mystères ni avoir l'air de me brouiller sans sujet. Maintenant, George, vous allez dire encore un qui va m'ennuyer ! comme vous dites ; si je ne suis pas tout à fait le premier venu pour vous, dites-moi, comme vous me l'auriez dit hier en me parlant d'un autre, ce qu'il faut que je fasse. Mais, je vous en prie, si vous voulez me dire que vous doutez de ce que je vous écris, ne me répondez plutôt pas du tout.

Je sais comme vous pensez de moi, et je n'espère rien en vous disant cela. Je ne puis qu'y perdre une amie et les seules heures agréables que j'ai passées depuis un mois. Mais je sais que vous êtes bonne, que vous avez aimé, et je me confie à vous, non pas comme à une maîtresse, mais comme à un camarade franc et loyal.

George, je suis un fou de me priver du plaisir de vous voir pendant le peu de temps que vous avez encore à passer à Paris, avant votre voyage à la campagne et votre départ pour l'Italie où nous aurions passé de si belles nuits, si j'avais de la force. Mais la vérité est que je souffre et que la force me manque.


(Letter from Alfred de Musset to the girl whom he loved, known by the name of George)

It is so easy for you to lift me to the seventh heaven! My soul was darker than midnight, when your pen said "let there be light," and there was light as at the bidding of the Word. When I read in your looks and words that you love me, feel it in the deepest part of my soul, then I care not one straw for the whole universe...

I will cover you with love when next I see you, with caresses, with ecstasy. I want to gorge you with all the joys of the flesh, so that you faint and die. I want you to be amazed by me, and to confess to yourself that you had never even dreamed of such transports... When you are old, I want you to recall those few hours, I want your dry bones to quiver with joy when you think of them.

I want my rapscallionly fellow vagabond.

I want my dark lady. I want my angel -

I want my tempter.

I want my Freia with her apples.

I want the lighter of my seven lamps of beauty, honour,

laughter, music, love, life and immortality ... I want

my inspiration, my folly, my happiness,

my divinity, my madness, my selfishness,

my final sanity and sanctification,

my transfiguration, my purification,

my light across the sea,

my palm across the desert,

my garden of lovely flowers,

my million nameless joys,

my day's wage,

my night's dream,

my darling and

my star..

This letter was written by John Ruskin, an English writer, artist and philosopher to Effie Gray, whom he eventually married.  However, his insights were correct.  The marriage was never consummated and they divorced six years later.


December 1847

I don't know anything dreadful enough to liken to you - you are like a sweet forest of pleasant glades and whispering branches - where people wander on and on in its playing shadows they know not how far - and when they come near the centre of it, it is all cold and impenetrable - and when they would fain turn, lo - they are hedged with briars and thorns and cannot escape...

You are like the bright - soft - swelling - lovely fields of a high glacier covered with fresh morning snow - which is heavenly to the eye - and soft and winning on the foot - but beneath, there are winding clefts and dark places in its cold - cold ice - where men fall, and rise not again.

I Just insert the key into the lock, turns to jam as usual ... I entered the small room, the bed is discarded as when you left and part of the sheets lie on the floor. I don't care. I step over them without knowing if I'm stepping them or not. I take off my leather jacket and my Converse sneakers. Too lazy to take my other clothes, I dropped to my bedside, but the room smells too much of you, your smell burns my lungs every time I breathe ... It's painful yet pleasant and I need breathing again and again. Without being aware of my actions, I roll to the other side of the bed, which until recently 15minutes was  yours. I bury my face in the pillow and breathe deeply, as if it were the last thing I will do before I die. And here you come, your skin seems a gas through my nose, rattling in my brain, leaving indelible marks on my soul ... Why you have to leave so soon? Why our time is never enough? For a moment I hate myself, I feel helpless for failing to stop the plane that takes you away from me again and again ... God, I hate everything!! The room strikes me as dark, cold and sad, and I spread that environment and break to mourn ... It all starts with a barely audible crying, but the pain is so great that I let go and cry, I cry so much and so loud that they could hear me above three floors ...
But all pain has its purpose and Morpheus lulls me into his arms and fall asleep. In the world of dreams nothing hurts and nothing dies ... that we can be together what seems an eternity, but once awake I discover it's only been 5 minutes. Morpheus is so kind that embraces me strong again taking me with you, my love. This time we spent together two long and wonderful hours, until the sound of the phone wakes me up. It's you, you've come to Madrid and all is well. We said goodbye with a kiss and an "I love you" and I stay alone in the room that looks like a cemetery.
I try to compose myself and start to pack my things and put them in the backpack. Finally when everything is back to its site, I hang the bag and the camera (faithful friend) and I leave the room, keeping locked up two days of dreams, kisses, caresses and laughts ...
Until next time, my beloved ...

I'm in dA 8 months ago and I never wrote a journal...I see all of you write about many things and feelings and now it's me who needs to write, not for a concrete reason, I just need it...
Simply I'd like to write a love letter that John Keats wrote to his loved neighbour Fanny Brawne... Unfortunately they couldn't be married because he died of tuberculosis...
This is one of my favourites love letters ever...He loved she, come what may, until his dying days...

May (?) 1820

Wednesday Morng.

My dearest Girl,

I have been a walk this morning with a book in my hand, but as usual I have been occupied with nothing hut you: I wish I could say in an agreeable manner. I am tormented day and night. They talk of my going to Italy. 'Tis certain I shall never recover if I am to be so long separate from you: yet with all this devotion to you I cannot persuade myself into any confidence of you. Past experience connected with the fact of my long separation from you gives me agonies which are scarcely to be talked of. When your mother comes I shall be very sudden and expert in asking her whether you have been to Mrs. Dilke's, for she might say no to make me easy. I am literally worn to death, which seems my only recourse. I cannot forget what has pass'd. What? nothing : with a man of the world, but to me deathful. I will get rid of this as much as possible. When you were in the habit of flirting with Brown you would have left off, could your own heart have felt one half of one pang mine did. Brown is a good sort of Man - he did not know he was doing me to death by inches. I feel the effect of everyone of those hours in my side now; and for that cause, though he has done me many services, though I know his love and friendship for me, though at this moment I should be without pence were it not for his assistance, I will never see or speak .to him until we are both old men, if we are to be. I will resent my .heart having been made a football. You will call this madness. I have heard you say that it was not unpleasant to wait a few years - you have amusements - your mind is away - you have not brooded over one idea as I have, and how should you? You are to me an object intensely desireable - the air I breathe in a room empty of you is unhealthy. I am not the same to you - no - you can wait - you have a thousand activities - you can be happy without me. Any party, any thing to fill up the day has been enough. How have you pass'd this month? Who have you smil'd with? All this may seem savage in me. You do not feel as I do--you do not know what it is to love - one day you may - your time is not come. Ask yourself how many unhappy hours Keats has caused you in Loneliness. For myself I have been a Martyr the whole time, and for this reason I speak; the confession is forc'd from me by the torture. I appeal to you by the blood of that Christ you believe in: Do not write to me if you have done anything this month which it would have pained me to have seen. You may have altered - if you have not - if you still behave in dancing rooms and other societies as I have seen you - I do not want to live - if you have done so I wish this coming night may be my last. I cannot live without you, and not only you but chaste you; virtuous you. The Sun rises and sets, the day passes, and you follow the bent of your inclination to a certain extent - you have no conception of the quantity of miserable feeling that passes through me in a day. Be serious ! Love is not a plaything - and again do not write unless you can do it with a crystal conscience.  I would sooner die for want of you than -

Yours for ever
J. Keats.