From their meeting in 1921, Vladimir’s letters to his beloved Véra form a narrative arc that tells a forty-six year-long love story, and they are memorable in their entirety.
“My tenderness, my happiness, what words can I write for you? How strange that although my life’s work is moving pen over paper, I don’t know how to tell you how I love you, how I desire you. Such agitation — and such divine peace: melting clouds immersed in sunshine — mounds of happiness. And I am floating with you, in you, aflame and melting — and a whole life with you is like the movement of clouds, their airy, quiet falls, their lightness and smoothness, and the heavenly variety of outline and tint — my inexplicable love. I cannot express these cirrus-cumulus sensations,” writes Vladimir in one of his letters.
Pic credit: Penguin Classics