Cyrano de Bergerac, 1649

You complain of having recognised in me the signs of passion from the very first meeting; but what cause have you to lament a thing that neither you nor I can prevent? It is essential that the rays of your beauty illuminate the objects around you, just as it is natural for my body to reflect back towards you the light with which you flood me. And because the power of the fire in your eyes can set alight an inflammable substance, my heart cannot but be consumed by it!

Saint-Preux's love for Julie d'Etange, 1760

What have you done, alas!, what have you done, my Julie! You wished to reward me and you have ruined me. I am drunk, or rather out of my senses. My senses are disordered, all my faculties thrown into turmoil by that fatal kiss. You wished to ease my suffering? Cruel one, you have only made it sharper. Upon your lips I gathered poison; now it ferments, sets my blood aflame, kills me, and your pity is the death of me.

O immortal memory of that instant of illusion, delirium and ecstasy!

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's romantic letter to Constanze Weber, 1785

Oh, if only I already had a letter from you! If I were to tell you everything I do with your portrait, you would surely burst out laughing. For instance, when I take it out of its case I say "Good morning, little Constanze, good morning, you little rogue, little pussycat, pointy little nose, little trifle" and when I put it away I slip it in gently and say "Well, well, well, well" but with the special expression that this most meaningful word demands. And finally, in a rush, "Good night, little mouse, sleep well!" I really do think I have written a lot of nonsense, for others at least, but for us who love each other so dearly it is not nonsense at all. I have been away for six days and it already feels like a year. I kiss you a million times most tenderly and am your husband who loves you always so tenderly.

Eternally mine, eternally thine, eternally ours; Ludwig van Beethoven's letter to his beloved, Teplitz, 7 July 1812

Even in bed my thoughts rush to you, my immortal beloved, sometimes joyful, then again sorrowful, waiting to learn whether fate will grant our wish. To face life, I must live solely with you or never see you at all. Yes, I have resolved to wander far away, until I can fly into your arms, truly call myself at home with you and, surrounded by your arms, let my soul be carried into the realm of blessed spirits…

Be calm – only by calmly considering our existence can we achieve our goal of living together – Be calm – love me – Today – yesterday – what yearning, to the point of tears, for you – for you – you – my life – my all – farewell – Oh, go on, go on loving me – never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.

Eternally thine

Eternally mine

Eternally one another's

Stendhal to Clémentine Curial, 1826

When I see you for three days in a row, my angel, I seem to love you even more, if that is possible. Because we are more intimate, and after three days of intimacy each of us has abandoned all suspicion and wishes only to love and to be happy. How happy I was on Wednesday! I mark this day, for God knows when I will dare send you this letter. I write it to unburden myself. Today I love you so deeply, I am so bound to you, that I need to write it down. If we were to spend eight days together and our hearts were to beat with the same ardour throughout, I believe we would end up never parting again.

Giacomo Leopardi's love letter to Fanny Targioni Tozzetti, Rome, 5 December 1831

Dear Fanny. I have not written to you until now so as not to trouble you, knowing how busy you are: but in the end I would not want my silence to appear as forgetfulness, although perhaps you know that forgetting you is not easy. I believe you told me one day that you often did not reply to your closest friends, but did reply to others, because of the former you were certain they would not take offence at your silence, as the others would. Do me the honour of treating me as one of your closest friends; and if you are very busy, and if writing tires you, do not reply to me…

I do not think you expect any news from me. You know that I abhor politics… My friends are scandalised; and they are right to seek glory and to do good for mankind. But I, who make no pretence of doing good, and who aspire to no glory, am not wrong to spend my day stretched out on a sofa without batting an eyelid. And I find most reasonable the custom of the Turks and other Orientals, who are content to sit cross-legged all day long and stare blankly into the face of this ridiculous existence.

But I am quite wrong to write such things to you, who are beautiful, and privileged by nature to shine in life.

Giuseppe Verdi to Emilia Morosini, 1842

From a most gentle hand I received your most gentle letter, nor did that most gentle letter know that it was written by a hand equally most gentle. A rest and a fermata over all these "most gentles", because I no longer know how to go on.

You will think I am in good spirits: no, no, I am furious, bewildered, with a face as long as two arms, I have the devil on me, and I don't know why. It must be because I am far from Milan. Oh Milan! Milan!…

I am forever tender, passionate, ardent, half-dead for you.

James Joyce's words of love to Nora Barnacle, 22 August 1909

There is a letter I dare not be the first to write but which I hope every day you will write to me. A letter for my eyes alone. Perhaps you will write it to me and it will ease my longing.

What can separate us now? We have suffered and been put to the test. Every veil of shame and mistrust seems to have dissolved between us. Shall we not see in each other's eyes the hours and hours of happiness that await us?

Adorn your body for me, dearest, be beautiful and happy and loving and provocative, full of memories, full of desires, when we meet. Do you remember the three adjectives I used in my book speaking of your body? They are "musical and strange and perfumed".

Jealousy is not yet entirely extinguished. Your love for me must be fierce and violent…

Sibilla Aleramo's beautiful love letter to him, written to Dino Campana, 6 August 1916

Our bodies on the hard clods of earth, the ears of corn rustling above our foreheads, while the stars deepen the darkness of the sky. I knew only how to hold you. You who had carried me so far. Oh, you have no need of me! Is it true that you want me to return? Like a ten-year-old girl. Is it true that you are waiting for me? To see again the golden light that laughs upon your face. To be silent together, for a long time, lying in the autumn sun. I am afraid of dying first! Dino, Dino, I love you! I saw my eyes this morning, in them is all the dark glimmer of a miracle. I do not know, I am afraid. Is it true that you said "amore" to me? You have no need of me. And yet the joy is so strong. I am yours. I am happy, I tremble for you but of myself I am certain. And then it is not true, I am certain of you too, we will live, we are beautiful. Tell me. I can no longer sleep, but you have my blue scarf, does it help you carry your dreams? Write to me!

Franz Kafka's words to Milena Jesenska, April 1920

To want to seize by magic in a single night, in haste, with quickened breath, obsessed, with no way out, to want to seize by magic that which every day grants to open eyes! For this very reason I am so grateful (to you and to everything) and so it is therefore natural that beside you I am supremely calm and supremely restless, supremely enslaved and supremely free, for which reason, after this intuition, I have also renounced all the rest of life. Look me in the eyes!

The love words of Jean-Paul Sartre to Simone de Beavoir, October 1939

If there had been any need to feel how deeply united we are, this phantom war would have had at least this much to its credit, that it made us feel it. But it was not necessary. Yet it does answer the question that tormented you: my love, you are not "one thing in my life" – even if the most important – because my life is no longer my own, I do not even miss it, and you are always me. You are much more than that: you are the one who allows me to imagine any future in any life.