Sibilla

Cara Valeria,

Alfine mi riconquistavo, alfine accettavo nella mia anima il rude impegno di camminar sola, di lottare sola, di trarre alla luce tutto quanto in me giaceva di forte, d'incontaminato, di bello; alfine arrossivo dei miei inutili rimorsi, della mia lunga sofferenza sterile, dell'abbandono in cui avevo lasciata la mia anima, quasi odiandola. Alfine risentivo il sapore della vita, come a quindici anni.

Con affetto,

Sibilla Aleramo

Sylvia

Dear Valeria,

I haven't described our Co-operative home to you. It is built round a square garden and there is another garden round it. There is also a garden on the roof. The dining- room and kitchen are on the top floor. The school nursery, crèche, and children's garden is at the end of the block of buildings. There are a tennis court, croquet lawn, a hall for meetings, concerts, dances, and so on, a sewing room, workshops for all sorts of crafts, a library and gymnasium, and two big summer houses in the garden, one of which is for the older children.

Peace, sister,

Sylvia Pankhurst

Boris

Dear Valeria,

I'll write your memory into an image of aching tenderness and sorrow. I'll stay here till this is done, then I too will go. This is how I will portray you, I'll trace your features on paper as the sea, after a fearful storm has churned it up, traces the form of the greatest, farthest-reaching wave on the sand. Seaweed, shells, cork, pebbles, the lightest, most imponderable things that it could lift from its bed, are cast up in a broken, sinuous line on the sand. This line endlessly stretching into the distance is the frontier of the highest tide. That was how life's storm cast you up on my shore, O my pride, that is how I'll portray you.

Best,

Boris Pasternak