Sunday, November 30, 2014


Dear Miss Valeria,

All I’ve ever done is dream. That, and only that, has been the meaning of my existence. The only thing I’ve ever really cared about is my inner life. My greatest griefs faded to nothing the moment I opened the window onto my inner self and lost myself in watching.
I never tried to be anything other than a dreamer. I never paid any attention to people who told me to go out and live. I belonged always to whatever was far from me and to whatever I could never be.

Best Regards,

Fernando Pessoa

Wednesday, November 26, 2014


Dear Valeria,

That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere. Nobody ever helps me into carriages, or over mud-puddles, or gives me any best place! And ain't I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm! I have ploughed and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could head me! And ain't I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man — when I could get it — and bear the lash as well! And ain't I a woman? I have borne thirteen children, and seen most all sold off to slavery, and when I cried out with my mother's grief, none but Jesus heard me! And ain't I a woman?

Yours sincerely,

Sojourner Truth

Tuesday, November 11, 2014


Dear Valeria,

And about this time I had a vision — and I saw white spirits and black spirits engaged in battle, and the sun was darkened — the thunder rolled in the Heavens, and blood flowed in streams — and I heard a voice saying, "Such is your luck, such you are called to see, and let it come rough or smooth, you must surely bear it."

May God be with you,

Nat Turner

Saturday, November 8, 2014


Dear Valeria,

It's dark. Not caring where I go, which path I follow,
Past sleepy ponds I stroll.
Of autumn freshness, leaves and fruit the fragrance mellow
Drifts over all.
The garden's almost bare, and through the branches whitely
The stars of evening show.
Dead silence reigns. Murk clothes the paths. It's nighttime.
My steps are slow.

They're slow, but wake the hush… High in the sky's cool
A princely diadem,
The icy Pleiades blaze diamond-like and sparkle,
Each one a gem. 


Ivan Alekseyevich Bunin

Friday, November 7, 2014

Thursday, November 6, 2014

Tuesday, November 4, 2014


Dear Valeria,

When night falls
the branch of my heart’s fantasy grows
innocent of itself
Facing the sky
it flies upward, infinitely
(If my hand reached the moon
If the night bought my relief from a star
If the sun did not rise…
I would cover the city of night with lights
to gaze forever, star-drunk…)
Oh, my dreaming heart
you drown my days
in fantasy
How long will this old woman of a heart
move like a girl?


Nadia Anjuman

Monday, November 3, 2014


Ma chère Valeria,

Homme, es-tu capable d’être juste ? C’est une femme qui t’en fait la question ; tu ne lui ôteras pas du moins ce droit. Dis-moi? Qui t’a donné le souverain empire d’opprimer mon sexe ? Ta force ? Tes talents ? Observe le créateur dans sa sagesse ; parcours la nature dans toute sa grandeur, dont tu sembles vouloir te rapprocher, et donne-moi, si tu l’oses, l’exemple de cet empire tyrannique.

Je vous prie, Mademoiselle, etc.,

Olympe de Gouges

Sunday, November 2, 2014

Pier Paolo

Cara Valeria,

Why create a work of art when dreaming about it is so much sweeter?

un abbraccio,

Pier Paolo Pasolini

Saturday, November 1, 2014


Dear Valeria,

The belief that it is useless to employ partial and palliative means against radical evils, because they only remedy them in part, is an article of faith never preached unsuccessfully by meanness to simplicity, but it is none the less absurd.


Theodor Mommsen