During all this time I dreamt about you only once, and even then, very fleetingly. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember the whole dream, but I felt there was something very lovely in it; like when you sometimes feel, without opening your eyes, that it is sunny outside – and then unexpectedly later, near evening, thinking again about the dream, I suddenly understood that the lovely, exciting thing that was hiding in it was you, your face, your very movement – flashing through my dream and making of it something sunny, precious, immortal. I want to tell you that every minute of my day is like a coin with you on the other side, and that if I hadn’t remembered you every minute, my very features would have changed.
written by Vladimir Nabokov, from Letters To Vera
(via paradoxicalsentiments)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via paradoxicalsentiments)