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

[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.

[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)

[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.

[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!

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

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

[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.

[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

[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.

[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...