#letter

We live and breathe words. .... It was books that made me feel that perhaps I was not completely alone. They could be honest with me, and I with them. Reading your words, what you wrote, how you were lonely sometimes and afraid, but always brave; the way you saw the world, its colors and textures and sounds, I felt--I felt the way you thought, hoped, felt, dreamt. I felt I was dreaming and thinking and feeling with you. I dreamed what you dreamed, wanted what you wanted--and then I realized that truly I just wanted you. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#letters #love #love-at-first-sight #power-of-words #writing

I am running after you, and life, in desperate pursuit. My dream is that someday you will both turn and let me catch you. That dream carries me through every night... I have enclosed a hundred kisses in this letter. You must count them out carefully and not lose any. ↗

— Lisa Kleypas

#longing #love #romance #dreams

Freedom of opinion! Where is it? I see a press more mean and paltry and silly and disgraceful than any country ever knew, - if that be its standard, here it is. ... I speak of Miss Martineau, and all parties... shower down upon her a perfect cataract of abuse. "But what has she done? Surely she praised America enough!" - "Yes, but she told us of some of our faults, and Americans can't bear to be told of their faults. ↗

— Charles Dickens

#letters #press-standards #us #freedom

As long as I can still dream, I will dream of you. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#jace-lightwood #letter #love #the-mortal-instruments #dreams

You are the first dream, the only dream I ever was unable to stop myself from dreaming. You are the first dream of my soul, and from that dream I hope will come all other dreams, a lifetime's worth. With hope at last, Will Herondale ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#letter #love #p- #dreams

In the shadows of the dreamland, he waits. He watches the gaping windows to the world he had so longed to open. Now flown wide, bleak and empty, ravaged-like him-it grants his wish. He belongs. It cannot compare to the memory of her eyes. Blue azure, warm as a summer sky. If he could but fall into their world. Would that he had. Now he write the end to the story that past its Midnight Dreary-that too late and hour-has its own without him. It was always, he knows now, meant to end this way. Like that circle that "ever returneth into the selfsame spot." My beautiful, my Isobel. My Love. You ask me to wait. And so I wait. For all of this, I know, is but a dream. And when, in sleep, at last we wake, I will see you again. ↗

— Kelly Creagh

#beauty

I feel the only thing you can do about life is to preserve it, by art if you're an artist, by children if you're not. ↗

— Philip Larkin

#children #letters-to-monica #philip-larkin #poem #poet

I was very pleased with your kind letter. Until now I never dreamed of being something like a hero. But since you've given me the nomination I feel that I am one. ↗

— Albert Einstein

#children #compliment #correspondence #hero #heroic

There is an unknown land full of strange flowers and subtle perfumes, a land of which it is joy of all joys to dream, a land where all things are perfect and poisonous. ↗

— Oscar Wilde

#dreams

Dream Bravely. Find fearlessness inside of you. Dare, and fear will falter. Challenge, and fear will flee. This is the beginning of your dream-making. ↗

— Carew Papritz

#dream-bravely #dream-making #fearlessness #the-legacy-letters #dreams