Dell'amore e di altre meraviglie

Ami di più chi ha più bisogno di te.

(Gale a Katniss)

“Sei un pittore. Sei un fornaio. Ti piace dormire con la finestra aperta. Non metti mai lo zucchero nel tè. E ti annodi sempre due volte i lacci delle scarpe”.

 'Tu mi ami. Vero o falso?' Io gli rispondo 'Vero'.

Devi sempre fare due cose in una volta? 

È il mio modo di amare. 

(Nikita) 

About loss and love

“Do you miss a parent you never knew?” he whispered.
Kate considered his question for some time. His voice had held a hoarse urgency that told her there was
something critical about her reply. Why, she couldn’t imagine, but something about her childhood clearly
rang a chord within his heart.
“Yes,” she finally answered, “but not in the way you would think. You can’t really miss her, because you
didn’t know her, but there’s still a hole in your life—a big empty spot, and you know who was supposed
to fit there, but you can’t remember her, and you don’t know what she was like, and so you don’t know
how she would have filled that hole.” 
Her lips curved into a sad sort of smile. “Does this make any sense?”
Anthony nodded. “It makes a great deal of sense”. 


Julia Quinn, The Viscount Who Loved Me

"You can't really miss her, because you didn't know her, but there's still a hole in your life - a big empty spot, and you know who was supposed to fit there, but you can't remember her, and you don't know what she was like, and so you don't know how she would have filled that hole".


E poi, improvvisamente, arriva qualcuno che riempie quel vuoto...e ti dà anchee tu non puoi far altro che abbracciarlo.

A love letter

A love letter

"The letter had been crumpled up and tossed onto the grate. It had burned all around the edges, so the names at the top and bottom had gone up in smoke. But there was enough of the bold black scrawl to reveal that it had indeed been a love letter. And as Hannah read the singed and half-destroyed parchment, she was forced to turn away to hide the trembling of her hand.

—should warn you that this letter will not be eloquent. However, it will be sincere, especially in light of the fact that you will never read it. I have felt these words like a weight in my chest, until I find myself amazed that a heart can go on beating under such a burden.

I love you. I love you desperately, violently, tenderly, completely. I want you in ways that I know you would find shocking. My love, you don't belong with a man like me. In the past I've done things you wouldn't approve of, and I've done them ten times over. I have led a life of immoderate sin. As it turns out, I'm just as immoderate in love. Worse, in fact.

I want to kiss every soft place of you, make you blush and faint, pleasure you until you weep, and dry every tear with my lips. If you only knew how I crave the taste of you. I want to take you in my hands and mouth and feast on you. I want to drink wine and honey from you.

I want you under me. On your back.

I'm sorry. You deserve more respect than that. But I can't stop thinking of it. Your arms and legs around me. Your mouth, open for my kisses. I need too much of you. A lifetime of nights spent between your thighs wouldn't be enough.

I want to talk with you forever. I remember every word you've ever said to me.

If only I could visit you as a foreigner goes into a new country, learn the language of you, wander past all borders into every private and secret place, I would stay forever. I would become a citizen of you.

You would say it's too soon to feel this way. You would ask how I could be so certain. But some things can't be measured by time. Ask me an hour from now. Ask me a month from now. A year, ten years, a lifetime. The way I love you will outlast every calendar, clock, and every toll of every bell that will ever be cast. If only you—

And there it stopped."

Lisa Kleypas, A Wallflower Christmas