#letter – @hush-syrup on Tumblr

You are a fleeting diamond piercing the night air; I am not in love with the glow or the eloquence, I am irrationally in love with something more supreme: Partly with the essence of your breathing each time you take the time to write to me. Or with your lonesome and delicate breathing altogether. I sat admiring your handwriting for a good deal of twenty minutes. I began to observe the shape of each letter, each line across the paper so beautiful, serene, almost divine. Could a person not surrender to your choice of words? Even If you meant half of these things, you would still have all beating muscles of my heart at your complete disposal. This is not an exaggeration or a linguistic hyperbole. What is it with you and the night, my darling? You seem intertwined with this darkness; with all these nightly echoes of subterranean impression. And although I feel it is most inadequate to intrude - I still wish to indulge in the pleasure of sharing that particular midnight silence with you. It would perhaps take us to another star; an unborn landscape of psychological awareness.

From a letter to Virginia Woolf by Vita Sackville-West (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)

#vita sackville-west #virginia woolf #lit #literature #prose #poetic prose #letter #literary letters #entropy quotes

hush-syrup reblogged

heteroglossia

The sufferings [of a poet] are enormous, but one has to be tough, one has to be born a poet, and I’ve come to realize I’m a poet. It’s not all my fault. It’s wrong to say: I think. One has to say: I am thought…. I is another. Too bad for the wood that finds itself a violin, and to hell with the unaware who babble and crackle about things they can’t understand at all.

Letter to Charles Izambard from Rimbaud (via heteroglossia)

#Rimbaud #lit #literature #quote #quotes #great quotes #prose #charles izambard #letter

hush-syrup reblogged

danseurs

I don’t know you. The only thing I know about you is, you’re reading this. I don’t know if your happy or not; I don’t know whether you’re young or not. I sort of hope you’re young and sad. If you’re old and happy, I can imagine that you’ll smile to yourself when you hear me going, he broke my heart. You’ll remember someone who broke your heart, and you’ll think to yourself, Oh yes, i remember how that feels. But you can’t, you smug old git. Oh you’ll remember feeling sort of plesantly sad. You might remember listening to music and eating chocolates in your room, or walking along the embankment on your own, wrapped up in a winter coat and feeling lonely and brave. But can you remember how with every mouthful of food it felt like you were biting into your own stomach? Can you remember the taste of red wine as it came back up and into the toilet bowl? Can you remember dreaming every night that you were still together, that he was talking to you gently and touching you, so that every morning when you woke up you had to go through it all over again?

By Nick Hornby (via danseurs)

#nick hornby #lit #literature #prose #writing #writer #letter #words #quote #quotes #book #books #contemporary lit #contemporary literature