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Inspiration for Writing Love Letters

Love letters are the perfect gift for a loved one — find inspiration to write one in this article!

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Need something last minute for an anniversary? Or did you miss an anniversary or birthday all together and need to make up for it? Or just in need of a romantic gesture? A love letter could be the answer!

When did you last get a real letter in the mail? A handwritten letter from someone who cares about you? I bet it was quite some time ago.

Personally, I grew up with a penpal. When I was overseas my grandpa would also write me long letters, while gran would write short postcards. I always loved these letters and notes. It was personal. Sometimes there were even photos, or other little tidbits stuck in there.

Letters feel so much more special than a text, or an email. Of course, if a text, or email, is really well written, it can work wonders too. It’s about the words, by the end of the day. Personally though, I just love opening my mail and finding something there that warms my heart. Something I can hold onto. Even if it’s written on a computer and printed out and signed. There’s something magical about receiving someone’s thoughts and feelings printed out.

In case you’re looking for inspiration for a love letter to a special someone, I found some pretty epic love letters for you. After reading these, you should be ready to get the typewriter out and start typing (or just use Courier New on Word/Pages)!

Of course, these letters were written in different times, so you wouldn’t express yourself like this anymore. But just reading them will inspire you as people, throughout the centuries have expressed their love with such…flourishes.

Alfred de Musset to George Sands (1833)

My dear George,

I have something stupid and ridiculous to tell you. I am foolishly writing you instead of telling you this, I do not know why, when returning from that walk. Tonight I shall be annoyed at having done so. You will laugh at my face, take me for a phrase-maker in all my relations with you hitherto. You will show me the door and you will think I am lying. I am in love with you.

George Farquhar to Anne Oldfield (1699?)

Nothing on earth, madam, can charm, beyond your wit but your beauty: after this not to love you would proclaim me a fool; and to say I did when I thought otherwise would pronounce me a knave; if anybody called me either I should resent it; and if you but think me either I shall break my heart.

Franz Kafka to Felice Bauer (1912)

Write to me only once a week, so that your letter arrives on Sunday — for I cannot endure your daily letters, I am incapable of enduring them. For instance, I answer one of your letters, then in bed in apparent calm, but my heart beats through my entire body and is conscious only of you. I belong to you; there is really no other way of expressing it, and that is not strong enough. But for this very reason I don’t want to know what you are wearing it confuses me so much that I cannot deal with life; and that’s why I don’t want to know that you are fond of me. If I did, how could I, fool that I am, go on sitting in my office, or here at home, instead of leaping on to a train with my eyes shut and sad, sad reason for not doing so. To make it short: my health is only just good enough for myself alone, not good enough for marriage, let alone fatherhood. Yet when I read your letters, I feel I could overlook even what cannot possibly be overlooked.

Mozart to His Wife (1791)

I have this moment received your dear letter and am delighted to hear that you are well and in good spirits, Madame Leutgeb has laundered my nightcap and necktie, but I should like you to see them! Good God! I kept on telling her, ‘Do let me show you how she (my wife) does them!” — But it was no use. I am delighted that you have a good apetite — but whoever gorges a lot, must also shit a lot — no, walk a lot, I mean. But I should not like you to take long walks without me. I entreat you to follow my advice exactly, for it comes from my heart. Adieu — my love — my only one. Do catch them in the air — those 2999 1/2 kisses from me which are flying about, waiting for someone to snap them up. Listen, I want to whisper something in your ear — and you in mine — and now we open and close our mouths — again — again — again and again — at last we say: ‘It’s all about Plumpi — Strumpi —‘ Well, you can think what you like — that is just why it’s so convenient. Adieu. A thousand tender kisses. Ever your Mozart.

In Closing

I find these letters a fascinating read as people these days seem less prone to express themselves with such flourishes. Wouldn’t it be marvelous to receive a letter that’s filled with romantic passion? Isn’t this why people still read Austen? No matter how boring some of the plots, there’s this notion of romance. These days it’s all “Hey babe, wanna hook up?” Not “The sight of the blue of your irises make me believe miracles exist; it makes me want to find out about the miracle that’s hidden within you. That which I can see glimpses of in those blue eyes of yours.”

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