i wish you'd use twitter more so i could talk to you.

Contanto que ele te machuque o bastante, eu estou feliz.

Psiu! Eu amo você, xexelento. 🙂‍↔️

Although I don't fancy myself as a Shakespeare fan, I cannot help but reminisce of you whenever I am faced with this excerpt from Hamlet:
“Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.”

I am not one for such direct, lovely quotes, but you do bring out the most passionate strings of my heart, and play them like a lyre. I do love you so.

Darling, as I’ve been dreaming of you lately, this is the quote that has been on my mind (Kafka’s the author; he wrote it to Milena, his lover - alas, could anyone but Kafka write such sweet a words? He is master of yearning and unfulfilled desire altogether, and transcribes his feelings onto the paper as such, and beautifully so).
«Yesterday I dreamt about you. I hardly remember the details, just that we kept on merging into one another, I was you, you were me.»

My love: «My heart is so full of you I can hardly call it my own».
I love you so much, I can't seem to be rational whenever it comes to my actions towards you. My soul, my heart, all that I have is yours to do as you please.

Today I strain away from the typical quotes I send you, going back a few millennia so that I can recite to you what Plato once said: «Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet. »
And, indeed, poetry seems to flow through my fingers onto paper as I mindlessly write about you and the song you sing, which is half of my own.

I hope you know how much you truly mean to me.
«Whether you come as a lover or an executioner, I am ready to receive you»

This one is terribly short, but, alas, quantity does not equal to quality. I find that this quote shows perfectly how intensely I feel, yet it is with incredible subtlety does Edgar Allan Poe writes it (a true master of the sublime and obscurity, which he so beautifully translates into words).
«Let me glimpse inside your velvet bones», he says; and I beg that of you.

«Your handwriting. The way you walk. Which china pattern you choose. It's all giving you away. Everything you do shows your hand. Everything is a self portrait. Everything is a diary».
Once I saw someone ask if they would ever be so observed as this quote entails. I desire to watch you so; know you like you know yourself, or even further (the crevices of your soul, where light doesn’t reach, where there’s nothing but dead air). It’ll be my greatest pleasure, should you ever you allow it.

Você sabia que eu te amo e que mesmo sendo um pirralho teimoso, você é o melhor irmão do mundo?

Uma lembrança assustadora da sua infância.

Hello, my dear. I came across today's quote when I was scrolling through Pinterest (alas, I am not only made of books and old scrolls as one might think). I thought it was, quite simply, very beautiful and sweet, just like you are.
«You kiss the back of my legs and I want to cry. Only / the sun has come this close, only the sun».

Anna Akhmatova is a genius Russian poet; her eloquence renders me speechless everytime, and I find her words translate my feelings for you in a great manner. This is a small excerpt from a fugitive piece of hers.
«(...) you are many years late; how happy I am to see you».

As it is becoming tradition, this is today’s quote, something Henry Miller said to Anaïs Nin:
«I adored you. You were so soft, so diabolically angelic looking.»