LOVE LETTER: Between Abelard and Heloise.

-Abelard to Heloise-
I saw her, I loved her, I resolved to make her love me. The thirst of glory cooled immediately in my heart,
and all my passions were lost in this new one. I thought of nothing but Heloise; everything brought her image to my mind.
I was pensive and restless, and my passion was so violent as to admit of no restraint.
Thus there was a most happy understanding between us. The same house, the same love, united our persons and our desires.
How many soft moments did we pass together! We took all opportunities to express to each other our mutual affection,
and were ingenious in contriving incidents which might give us a plausible occasion of meeting.
Her wit and her beauty would have stirred the dullest and most insensible heart, I was always vain and presumptive;
I flattered myself already with the most bewitching hopes. Imagine then what a pleasure
it must have been to a heart so inflamed as mine to be always so near the dear object of desire!
My love burns fiercer amidst the happy indifference of those who surround me. Love is incapable of being concealed;
a word, a look, nay, silence, speaks it. I am thoroughly wretched;
I have not yet torn from my heart the deep roots which vice has planted in it
does not the love for Heloise yet burn in my heart! I have not yet triumphed over that unhappy passion.
In the midst of my retirement I sigh, I weep, I pine, I speak the dear name of Heloise, and delight to hear the sound!

-Heloise to Abelard-
I have your picture in my room; I never pass it without stopping to look at it;.
If a picture, which is but a mute representation of an object, can give such pleasure,
what cannot letters inspire? They have souls; they can speak; they have in them all that
force which expresses the transports of the heart; they have all the fire of our passions,
they can raise them as much as if the persons themselves were present; they have all the
tenderness and the delicacy of speech, and sometimes even a boldness of expression beyond it.
We may write to each other; so innocent a pleasure is not denied us. Let us not lose through
negligence the only happiness which is left us. Having lost the substantial pleasures of seeing and possessing you.
I shall read your most sacred thoughts; I shall carry them always about with me, I shall kiss them every moment;
if you can be capable of. write always to me carelessly and without study;
I had rather read the dictates of the heart than of the brain.

I have renounced without difficulty all the charms of life, preserving only my love,
and the secret pleasure of thinking incessantly of you, and hearing that you live.
 How happy should I be could I wash out with my tears the memory of those pleasures which I yet
think of with delight. During the quiet night, when my heart ought to be still in that
sleep which suspends the greatest cares, I cannot avoid the illusions of my heart.
I dream I am still with my dear Abelard. I see him, I speak to him and hear him answer.
I have still a thousand passions to fight. I must resist those fires which love kindles in my heart.
The heart of man is a labyrinth whose windings are very difficult to discover.
The praises you give me are the more dangerous because I love the person who bestows them.
If you had loved with delicacy, the oaths I made, the transports I indulged, the caresses I gave, would surely have comforted you.
I continually think of you; I continually call to mind your tenderness.
I will still love you with all the tenderness of my soul till the last moment of my life.

I love you more than ever.