# Kultura > Letërsia shqiptare > Krijime në gjuhë të huaja >  Letra dashurie nga autorë të famshëm (Tribut për Shën Valentinin)

## angeldust

Kjo teme eshte per te gjithe zemrat e vetmuara diten e Shen Valentinit, qe historikisht kane vetem dy opsione se si ta kalojne ate dite te tmerrshme:

1) te gjejne nje _date_ te cfaredoshme dhe te hiqen sikur ka dicka atje

2) te rrine ne shtepi prane te ngrohtit, me pizhama dhe nga nje levenxe prej leshi kraheve, duke ngrene pop-corn dhe 

 a. duke u qyrravitur me flima roze            b. duke lexuar dhe kontribuar ne kete teme

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## angeldust

Sunday 19th

My beloved angel,

I am nearly mad about you, as much as one can be mad: I cannot bring together two ideas that you do not interpose yourself between them.

I can no longer think of anything but you.  In spite of myself, my imagination carries me to you.  I grasp you, I kiss you, I caress you, a thousand of the most amorous caresses take possession of me.

As for my heart, there you will always be - very much so.  I have a delicious sense of you there.  But my God, what is to become of me, if you have deprived me of my reason?  This is a monomania which, this morning, terrifies me.

I rise up every moment saying to myself, "Come, I am going there!" Then I sit down again, moved by the sense of my obligations.  There is a frightful conflict.  This is not life.  I have never before been like that.  You have devoured everything.

I feel foolish and happy as soon as I think of you.  I whirl round in a delicious dream in which in one instant I live a thousand years. What a horrible situation!

Overcome with love, feeling love in every pore, living only for love, and seeing oneself consumed by griefs, and caught in a thousand spiders' threads.

O, my darling Eva, you did not know it.  I picked up your card.  It is there before me, and I talk to you as if you were there.  I see you, as I did yesterday, beautiful, astonishingly beautiful.

Yesterday, during the whole evening, I said to myself "she is mine!" Ah!  The angels are not as happy in Paradise as I was yesterday!

Honore de Balzac, French writer, to Evelina Hanska, a Polish countess, June 1836.

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## angeldust

To Adele Foucher 

My dearest,
When two souls, which have sought each other for,
however long in the throng, have finally found each other ...a union, fiery and pure as they themselves are... begins on earth and continues forever in heaven.


This union is love, true love, ... a religion, which deifies the loved one, whose life comes from devotion and passion, and for which the greatest sacrifices are the sweetest delights.


This is the love which you inspire in me... Your soul is made to love with the purity and passion of angels; but perhaps it can only love another angel, in which case I must tremble with apprehension.

Yours forever,
Victor Hugo (1821)

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## angeldust

In addition to being a brilliant military mind and feared ruler, Napolean Bonaparte (1763 - 1821) was a prolific writer of letters. He reportedly wrote as many as 75,000 letters in his lifetime, many of them to his beautiful wife, Josephine, both before and during their marriage. This letter, written just prior to their 1796 wedding, shows surprising tenderness and emotion from the future emperor.


Paris, December 1795

_I wake filled with thoughts of you. Your portrait and the intoxicating evening which we spent yesterday have left my senses in turmoil. Sweet, incomparable Josephine, what a strange effect you have on my heart! Are you angry? Do I see you looking sad? Are you worried?... My soul aches with sorrow, and there can be no rest for you lover; but is there still more in store for me when, yielding to the profound feelings which overwhelm me, I draw from your lips, from your heart a love which consumes me with fire? Ah! it was last night that I fully realized how false an image of you your portrait gives!

You are leaving at noon; I shall see you in three hours.

Until then, mio dolce amor, a thousand kisses; but give me none in return, for they set my blood on fire._

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## angeldust

Spring 1797 

_To Josephine, 

I love you no longer; on the contrary, I detest you. you are a wretch, truly perverse, truly stupid, a real Cinderella. You never write to me at all, you do not love your husband; you know the pleasure that your letters give him yet you cannot even manage to write him half a dozen lines, dashed off in a moment! What then do you do all day, Madame? What business is so vital that it robs you of the time to write to your faithful lover? What attachment can be stifling and pushing aside the love, the tender and constant love which you promised him? Who can this wonderful new lover be who takes up your every moment, rules your days and prevents you from devoting your attention to your husband?

Beware, Josephine; one fine night the doors will be broken down and there I shall be. In truth, I am worried, my love, to have no news from you; write me a four page letter instantly made up from those delightful words which fill my heart with emotion and joy. I hope to hold you in my arms before long, when I shall lavish upon you a million kisses, burning as the equatorial sun._



:D Isn't this the sweetest? Me urdher, o do me shkruash nje leter o ti te dish!

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## Cupke_pe_Korce

_atij-_
You would better do that before "someone" makes a massacre of hearts! ;)

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## angeldust

I guess we should leave it to the Pats to strike a touchdown, huh? 
They're better at it sometimes. :)

*Madame Du Barry*


1761

_"To Monsieur Duval 

My dear Friend,

Yes, I have told you, and repeat it: I love you dearly.
You certainly said the same thing to me, I begin to know the world.

I will tell you what I suggest, now: pay attention.
I don't want to remain a shopgirl, but a little more my own mistress, and would therefore like to find someone to keep me.

If I did not love you, I would try to get money from you; I would say to you, you shall begin by renting me a room and furnishing it; only as you told me that you are not rich, you can take me to your own place.

It will not cost you anymore rent, nor more for your table and the rest of your housekeeping. To keep me and my headdress will be the only expense, and for those give me one hundred livres a month, and that will include everything.

Thus we could both live happily, and you would never again have to complain about my refusal. If you love me, accept this proposal; but if you do not love me, then let each of us try his luck elsewhere. 

Good-by, I embrace you heartily,
Jeanne Rancon"_

(later known as Madame Du Barry)


Whether or not M. Duval's ardor was dampened by this letter, we have no way of knowing. What we do know is that before many months passed, Jeanne was installed in the household of Count Du Barry. A gentleman whose wealth was derived from "unmentionable sources." It is believed that Jeanne acted as his decoy for a gambling establishment. With his help, she advanced to the boudoir of Louis XV. The story of her rise to power in the court, her flight from France and her execution during the revolution in a most dramatic story of those times. She was guillotined at the age of forty-seven, on December 7, 1793.

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## bayern

Kjo maddame Du Berry mos eshte gje ajo kontesha xheloze te cilen Luigji 15 e donte me respektonte me shume se gruan e tij Maria Antoinnete? :D Se po qe ashu e ka dashnin me te futme. :D

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## angeldust

Marie Antoinette ishte e shoqja e Luigjit XVI e di une, qe gjate Revolucionit zgjati koken te shihte c'behej jashte pallatit, pa njerezit qe therrisnin se s'kane buke te hane dhe tha: "Po kur s'kane buke atehere pse s'hane kek?" :p

Po nejse, kjo "Neta" :D, nuk duket aq "hot" sa kjo Madamme Du Barry. Ja c'gjeta per kete Madamen:

Jeanne Becu (the future Mme. du Barry) was born on 19 August 1743 in Vaucoleurs, France. This village became famous in the 15th Century due to the heroic feats of Joanna of Arc. Her mother was a cook named Anne Becu and her father was unknown. Her father was probably a friar from the convent of Picpus named Jeane Baptiste Gormand of Vaubernier. Thanks to the help of her mother's lover, she was educated in the convent of Saint-Aure of Paris. At age 15, she completed her education. She worked in several positions and began her gallant life. In 1763 she met Jeane du Barry and she became his mistress. He was known as "Le Roué" (the vile). Thanks to police reports of the time we know that he prostituted his lovers, Mme du barry included. Only one modern word describes what he really was - a "pimp". In 1768 she met Louis XV. In order to become his mistress she had to be married so she married Guillaume du Barry (brother of Jeane).In this way, Jeanne Becu became Countess du Barry and King's acknowledged mistress. Her political influence was not as important as Mme. Pompadour. She protected intellectuals and artists such as Drouais (his portraits of her are well known), Pajou,Van Loo, Falconet, Lemoyne, and others.Voltaire was her good friend. In 1769 Louis XV presented her with the Chateau at Louveciennes which she put under restoration.She began to build the neo-classical pavillon du Barry by Ledoux. Fragonard painted for Louveciennes the rococo panels "The Progress of Love" (today in the Frick Collection.New York) but she prefered the neo-classical styleby Joseph Marie Vien. In 1774 Louis XV died and Jeanne du Barry was confined in the convent of Pont-Aux-Dames for two years. When she was free, she tried to put in order her new life. First at her  chateau of Saint-Vrain and after in Louveciennes, she again had a "court" of friends and admirers.The new successor of Louis XV was the Duke of Brissac. He became her lover.The three portraits of by Vigee Le Brun (at this website) were made in this period.In 1789 The French Revolution began and in 1791 the most of her diamonds were stolen. She had to travel to London to recover them. There, she was portrayed by Richard Cosway in an excellent miniature (today in the Pierpont Morgan Collection. New York). In 1792 her lover Brissac was killed. Rohan Chabot became her new lover. During her trips to London, she maintained contacts with the French emigres.The French Government considered her relations as "dangerous". In 1793 she was accused of working against the new government. She was arrested, judged and condemned to death. Jeanne du Barry was guillotined on 8 December 1793. She was 50 years old.

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## KaLTerSi

oo sa teme te bukur ke hapur Angel...

Eksluzivisht per San Valentinon, po te kontriboj disa ekstrakte nga letrat e figurave te ndryshme te marra nga Spektri.

_Gustave Flaubert i shkruan Louise Colet 

"Dashuria, në fund, nuk është kuriozitet superan, një uri e panjohur që të shtyn në stuhi me gjoksin e hapur dhe kokën ulur." 

James Joyce i shkruan Nora Barnacle Joyce 

"Siç do të jetë i gjatë udhëtimi i kthimit, do të jetë edhe e mrekullueshme puthja jonë e parë. Mos qaj, e dashur, kur të më shohësh. Dua t'i shoh sytë tu të bukur dhe të ndritshëm. Cila do të jetë fjala e parë që do të më thuash, kush e di? Të mendoj gjithnjë. Kur shkoj në shtrat nata është gjithnjë një lloj torture për mua... Jepmu mua, e gjitha, e gjitha kur të shihemi. E gjitha është e shenjtë, fshehur për të tjerët, duhet të ma ofrosh lirshëm. Dua të jem zot i trupit dhe shpirtit tënd..." 

Sigmund Freud i shkruan Martha Bernays 

"Vogëlushja ime e dashur, e dija që, vetëm kur të ishe larg, do të ndërgjegjësohesha për lumturinë time të pamasë, dhe po aq, edhe për përmasën e saktë të asaj që më mungon... 

John Keats i shkruan Fanny Brawne 

"Nuk dua të shoh asgjë tjetër pos Kënaqësisë në sytë e tu, Dashurisë mbi buzën tënde, Lumturisë në hapat e tua. Ti je gjithnjë e re, puthja jote e fundit qe gjithnjë më e ëmbla, buzëqeshja jote e fundit ajo më e shndritshmja, gjesti yt më i fundit ai më joshësi..." 

Giosue Carducci i shkruan Lidias 

"Lamtumirë, bukuroshe, lamtumirë, e dashur, grua e fisme. Dua të të them sa e papërmastë më është rritur dashuria për ty këtyre ditëve: por nuk ka fjalë aq të dashura dhe të thella ta thonë. Faleminderit, faleminderit, faleminderit!... Mbase do të bëj ende diçka të denjë. Ndërkaq të dua: dhe është diçka hyjnore të duash, të duash kështu?"

po e mbyll me Napoleonin...
Napoleon Bonaparti i shkruan Joséphine de Beauharnais 

"Një puthje mbi zemër, një tjetër pak më poshtë, një tjetër edhe më poshtë, akoma edhe më poshtë..."_  
po ky qenka fare fare, i pacipi...

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## StormAngel

> po e mbyll me Napoleonin...
> Napoleon Bonaparti i shkruan Joséphine de Beauharnais 
> 
> "Një puthje mbi zemër, një tjetër pak më poshtë, një tjetër edhe më poshtë, akoma edhe më poshtë..." [/I] 
> *po ky qenka fare fare, i pacipi*...


Divida et impera 
lol

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## Cupke_pe_Korce

Engjellushke, desha te postoj nje nga letrat e Alfred De Musset derguar George Sand, por nuk e gjeta dot online. Damn! it's the most beautiful thing I've ever read! :)

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## MI CORAZON

Temë e bukur kjo ! 
Të kujtohet Çupkë, që dikur hapa një temë të njëjtë me këtë, por  e lashë se më "bërtiti" Fiori e bëra sikur më mbeti hatri...

Eh... dashuria e shkretë, s'la njeri pa bërë poet !

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## Cupke_pe_Korce

_Je voulais te parler seulement de mon amour, Ah Goerge, quel amour! Jamais homme n'a aimé comme je t'aime. Je suis perdu vois tu, je suis noyé, inondé d'amour. Je ne sais plus si je vis, si je mange, si je marche, si je respire, si je parle. Mais je sais que j'aime"_ - Alfred de Musset

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## angeldust

Hmmm, Cupkë, duhet të çepkatësh më me durim ne Google herës tjetër. :D

Sidoqofte ti rrofsh per referimin, sepse ndoshta nuk gjeta tamam ate qe kerkoje ti, por me sa lexova shoh dy 'painfully ardent lovers' qe me bene pershtypje. :) Po i sjell:

Buloz, nje mik qe George i shkruante dhe i tregonte hallet e veta kur Alfred ishte semure keq, ka lene keto shenime nga 'thashethemet' per kete cift:




_On one of George Sand's unpublished letters to Buloz the following lines are written in the handwriting of Buloz: 

"In the morning on getting up he discovered, in an adjoining room, a tea-table still set, but with only one cup. 

"`Did you have tea yesterday evening?' 

"`Yes,' answered George Sand, `I had tea with the doctor.' 

"`Ah, how is it that there is only one cup?' 

"`The other has been taken away.' 

"`No, nothing has been taken away. You drank out of the same cup.' 

"`Even if that were so, you have no longer the right to trouble about such things.' 

"`I have the right, as I am still supposed to be your lover. You ought at least to show me respect, and, as I am leaving in three days, you might wait until I have gone to do as you like.' 


The night following this scene Musset discovered George Sand, crouching on her bed, writing a letter. 

"`What are you doing?' he asked. 

"`I am reading,' she replied, and she blew out the candle. 

"`If you are reading, why do you put the candle out?' 

"`It went out itself: light it again.' 

Alfred de Musset lit it again. 

"`Ah, so you were reading, and you have no book. Infamous woman, you might as well say that you are writing to your lover.' George Sand had recourse to her usual threat of leaving the house. Alfred de Musset read her up: `You are thinking of a horrible plan. You want to hurry off to your doctor, pretend that I am mad and that your life is in danger. You will not leave this room. I will keep you from anything so base. If you do go, I will put such an epitaph on your grave that the people who read it will turn pale,' said Alfred with terrible energy. 

George Sand was trembling and crying. 

"`I no longer love you,' Alfred said scoffingly to George Sand. 

"`It is the right moment to take your poison or to go and drown yourself.' 

(Confession to Alfred of her secret about the doctor. Reconciliation. Alfred's departure. George Sand's affectionate and enthusiastic letters.)

Such are the famous episodes of the tea-cup and the letter as Buloz heard them told at the time._



Mbasi George ishte lodhur nga Alfred dhe shkoi ne Venezie me te dashurin e saj dhe doktorin e tij, Pagello-n, ajo shkruan keshtu qe te justifikoje zgjedhjen e saj:

_"I have my love, my stay here with me. He never suffers, for he is never weak or suspicious. . . . He is calm and good. . . . He loves me and is at peace; he is happy without my having to suffer, without my having to make efforts for his happiness. . . . As for me, I must suffer for some one. It is just this suffering which nurtures my maternal solicitude, etc. . . ."_  

Pastaj vendosi te ikte perseri me Pagellon ne Paris, France. Por Pagelloja kuptoi se atje ishte i tepert. Alfred po i lutej George qe ajo te kthehej tek ai. Alfred shkruan keshtu:

_"I am good-for-nothing, for I am simply steeped in my love for you. I do not know whether I am alive, whether I eat, drink, or breathe, but I know I am in love."_

Por, grindjet e meparshme rifillojne. George shkruan:

_"I was quite sure that all these reproaches would begin again immediately after the happiness we had dreamed of and promised each other. Oh, God, to think that we have already arrived at this!"_

Po luanin me njeri tjetrin nje lloj loje krudele, ne te cilen Musset po shqetesohej dhe ruante vetveten gjithnje e me teper, por loje ndaj te ciles George Sand u be nje nevoje. Ne 24 dhjetor 1834 ajo shkruan ne ditar:

_"And what if I rushed to him when my love is too strong for me. What if I went and broke the bell-pull with ringing, until he opened his door to me. Or if I lay down across the threshold until he came out!"_ 

Ne fund ajo preu floket, ja dergoi atij dhe i shkroi:

_"I no longer love you, but I still adore you. I do not want you any more, but I cannot do without you."_

Gjeten kurajon te hiqnin dore nga njeri tjetri ne Mars 1835.

Kjo ishte me pak fjale historia dramatike e ciftit, dhe mendoj e nevojshme per te kuptuar fragmentin e letres ne postin e meposhtem, me gjithe urtesine qe me duket se permban.

George Sand

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## angeldust

_"You have said it a hundred times over, and it is all in vain that you retract; nothing will now efface that sentence: `Love is the only thing in the world that counts.' It may be that it is a divine faculty which we lose and then find again, that we must cultivate, or that we have to buy with cruel suffering, with painful experience. The suffering you have endured through loving me was perhaps destined, in order that you might love another woman more easily. Perhaps the next woman may love you less than I do, and yet she may be more happy and more beloved. There are such mysteries in these things, and God urges us along new and untrodden paths. Give in; do not attempt to resist. He does not desert His privileged ones. He takes them by the hand and places them in the midst of the sandbanks, where they are to learn to live, in order that they may sit down at the banquet at which they are to rest. . . .  


Do you imagine that one love affair, or even two, can suffice for exhausting or taking the freshness from a strong soul? I believed this, too, for a long time, but I know now that it is quite the contrary. Love is a fire that endeavours to rise and to purify itself. Perhaps the more we have failed in our endeavours to find it, the more apt we become to discover it, and the more we have been obliged to change, the more conservative we shall become. Who knows? It is perhaps the terrible, magnificent and courageous work of a whole lifetime. It is a crown of thorns which will blossom and be covered with roses when our hair begins to turn white."_

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## angeldust

*Love Letter By Alfred de Musset to Amantine Aurore Dudevant* (gjithashtu e njohur si George Sand)


_September 1, 1834_  


_"But let me have this letter, containing nothing but your love; and tell me that you give me your lips, your hair, all that face that I have possessed, and tell me that we embrace - you and I! 

O God, O God, when I think of it, my throat closes, my sight is troubled; my knees fail, ah, it is horrible to die, it is also horrible to love like this! What longing, what longing I have for you! I beg you to let me have the letter I ask. I am dying. Farewell."_

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## EXODUS

My Mistress and Friend,
I and my heart put ourselves in your hands, begging you to recommend us to your good grace and not to let absence lessen your affection...or myself the pang of absence is already to great, and when I think of the increase of what I must needs suffer it would be well nigh intolerable but for my firm hope of your unchangeable affection... 

King Henry VIII (of England)

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## EXODUS

_______________


In debating with myself the contents of your letters I have been put to a great agony; not knowing how to understand them, whether to my disadvantage as shown in some places, or to my advantage as in others. I beseech you now with all my heart definitely to let me know your whole mind as to the love between us; for necessity compels me to plague you for a reply, having been for more than a year now struck by the dart of love, and being uncertain either of failure or of finding a place in your heart and affection, which point has certainly kept me for some time from naming you my mistress, since if you only love me with an ordinary love the name is not appropriate to you, seeing that it stands for an uncommon position very remote from the ordinary; but if it pleases you to do the duty of a true, loyal mistress and friend, and to give yourself body and heart to me, who have been, and will be, your very loyal servant (if your rigour does not forbid me), I promise you that not only the name will be due to you, but also to take you as my sole mistress, casting off all others than yourself out of mind and affection, and to serve you only; begging you to make me a complete reply to this my rude letter as to how far and in what I can trust; and if it does not please you to reply in writing, to let me know of some place where I can have it by word of mouth, the which place I will seek out with all my heart. No more for fear of wearying you. Written by the hand of him who would willingly remain yours.

King Henry VIII


_______________

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## Diabolis

thone se jane 50 me te mirat:

Zelda Fitzgerald to Scott Fitzgerald
Michelangelo Buonarroti to Vittoria Colonna
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart to	Constanze Mozart
Harry Truman to Bess Wallace
Khalil Gibran to Mary Haskell
Benjamin Franklin to Madame Brillon
Horatio Nelson to Emma Hamilton
George Bush to Barbara Pierce
Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn
Elizabeth Barrett Browning to George Barrett
Jack London to Anna Strunsky
Marc Chagall to Bella Chagall
Ernest Hemingway to Mary Welsh
Jack Kerouac to Sebastian Sampas
Alfred Dreyfus to Lucie Dreyfus
Marjorie Fossa to Elvis Presley
Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf
Virginia Woolf to Vita Sackville-West 
Ludwig van Beethoven to the Immortal Beloved
Emma Goldman to Ben Reitman
Frida Kahlo to Diego Rivera
Dylan Thomas to Caitlin Thomas
Franz Kafka to Felice Bauer
Napoleon Bonaparte to Josephine Bonaparte
Abigail Smith to John Adams
John Ruskin to Euphemia Ruskin
George Sand to Gustave Flaubert
Simone de Beauvoir to Nelson Algren
Anaïs Nin to Henry Miller
Voltaire to Marie Louise Denis
James Thurber to Eva Prout
George Bernard Shaw to Stella Campbell
Sarah Bernhardt to Jean Richepin
Marcel Proust to Daniel Halevy
Frank Lloyd Wright to Maude Miriam Noel
Anne Sexton to Philip Legler
Elizabeth I to Thomas Seymour
Oscar Wilde to Constance Lloyd
Katherine Mansfield to John Middleton Maury
Charles Parnell to Katherine OShea
Lewis Carroll to Clara Cunnyngham

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