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 nothing 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 say to myself, ‘Come, I am going there!’ Then I sit down again, moved by the sense of my obligations.
Ferdinand Georg Waldmuller | Portrait of Madame Ewelina Hańska, 1835 |