Αγάπης Λέξεις

Η γιορτή του Αγίου Βαλεντίνου για πολλούς είναι εμπορική, ξενόφερτη και παραπανίσια. Άλλοι λένε πως δεν χρειάζονται μια μέρα το χρόνο για να εκφράσουν την αγάπη τους, μα πως γιορτάζουν καθημερινά με το έτερον ήμισυ. Δε λείπουν κι εκείνοι που μπορεί να είναι απογοητευμένοι και δεν πιστεύουν πια και τόσο στην αγάπη και τον έρωτα, με αποτέλεσμα μέχρι και να μισούν τη συγκεκριμένη μέρα. Για μένα, η γιορτή του Αγίου Βαλεντίνου, δε σημαίνει τίποτα από όλα αυτά. Είναι σαφώς μια μέρα σαν όλες τις άλλες, όμως όλη αυτή η ατμόσφαιρα, οι καρδούλες, οι μπαλάντες και τα λοιπά αγαπησιάρικα, δεν κάνουν στην πραγματικότητα κακό σε κανέναν, δε γιορτάζουν το μίσος αλλά την αγάπη. Ας χαλαρώσουμε λοιπόν, και ας ερωτευτούμε και αυτή τη μέρα, όπως και όλες τις υπόλοιπες.

Σε αυτό το άρθρο μαζεύτηκαν μερικά από τα πιο όμορφα λόγια αγάπης της λογοτεχνίας. Μπορούμε να γράψουμε κάποια από αυτά σε μια κάρτα ή σε ένα βιβλίο και να το χαρίσουμε στο αγαπημένο μας πρόσωπο.

Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same…If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.

Emily Brontë, 

Wuthering Heights

He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking. 

Leo Tolstoy, 

Anna Karenina

The more you love someone, he came to think, the harder it is to tell them. It surprised him that strangers didn’t stop each other on the street to say I love you.

Jonathan Safran Foer, 

Everything Is Illuminated

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

Jane Austen,

Emma

I took a photo of us mid-embrace. When I am old and alone, I will remember that I once held something truly beautiful. 

Joe Dunthorne,

Submarine

When you love something it loves you back in whatever way it has to love. 

John Knowles,

A Separate Peace

You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful. 

John Green,

 The Fault in Our Stars

I’m watching her talk. Watching her jaw move and collecting her words one by one as they spill from her lips. I don’t deserve them. Her warm memories. I’d like to paint them over the bare plaster walls of my soul, but everything I paint seems to peel.

Isaac Marion,

Warm Bodies

If I were to live a thousand years, I would belong to you for all of them. If we were to live a thousand lives, I would want to make you mine in each one. 

Michelle Hodkin,

 The Evolution of Mara Dyer

I have for the first time found what I can truly love–I have found you. You are my sympathy–my better self–my good angel–I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wrap my existence about you–and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.

Charlotte Brontë,

 Jane Eyre

Do I love you? My god, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches.

William Goldman,

 The Princess Bride

We loved with a love that was more than love.

Edgar Allan Poe,

 “Annabel Lee”

Is love this misguided need to have you beside me most of the time? Is love this safety I feel in our silences? Is it this belonging, this completeness? 

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie,

 Half of a Yellow Sun

When he shall die,

Take him and cut him out in little stars,

And he will make the face of heaven so fine

That all the world will be in love with night

And pay no worship to the garish sun. 

William Shakespeare,

 Romeo & Juliet

I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be. 

Charles Dickens,

 Great Expectations

Explain! Tell a man to explain how he dropped into hell! Explain my preference! I never had a PREFERENCE for her, any more than I have a preference for breathing. No other woman exists by the side of her. I would rather touch her hand if it were dead, than I would touch any other woman’s living. 

George Eliot,

 Middlemarch

- After all this time?

- Always

J. K. Rowling,

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

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