"I love you. Infinitely and inexpressibly. I’ve woken up in the middle of the night and here I am writing this. My love, my happiness."
"My delightful, my love, my life, I don’t understand anything: how can you not be with me? I’m so infinitely used to you that I now feel myself lost and empty: without you, my soul."
"My sweetheart, my love, my love, my love-do you know what–all the happiness of the world, the riches, power and adventures, all the promises of religions, all the enchantment of nature and even human fame are not worth your two letters."
"How can I explain to you, my happiness, my golden, wonderful happiness how much I am all yours."
"I love you, my sun, my life, I love your eyes – closed – all the little tails
of your thoughts, your stretchy vowels, your whole soul from head to heels."
"You wrote so well about yourself, my
lovely: I saw you."
"My darling, today I love you so sweetly, so joyfully – you don’t know how…I dreamt of you last night – as if I was playing the piano and you were turning the pages for me…"
"But if you do not love me, tell me frankly. Sincerity above all! All the same:You are my happiness."
"I’m more than thinking about you – I’m living about you, my love, my
happiness…"
"Today I can’t write about anything except my longing for you."
"My tenderness, my happiness, what words can I write for you? How strange
that although my life’s work is moving a pen over paper, I don’t know how to tell you how I love, how I desire you. Such agitation – and such divine peace: melting clouds immersed in sunshine – mounds of happiness...my inexplicable love."
- Letters to Véra, Vladimir Nabokov//Paintings - Ron Hicks
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