The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay

You have, by your tenderness and worth, twisted yourself more artfully round my heart, than I supposed possible.

know the quickness of your feelings – and let me, in the sincerity of my heart, assure you, there is nothing I would not suffer to make you happy. My own happiness wholly depends on you –

God bless you, my love; do not shut your heart against a return of tenderness; and, as I now in fancy cling to you, be more than ever my support.

Do not turn from me, for indeed I love you fondly, and have been very wretched, since the night I was so cruelly hurt by thinking that you had no confidence in me —

Should I attempt to write any more, I could not change the strain. My head aches, and my heart is heavy. The world appears an “unweeded garden,” where “things rank and vile” flourish best.

I do not want to be loved like a goddess but I wish to be necessary to you. God bless you!3

The books sent to me are such as we may read together; so I shall not look into them till you return; when you shall read, whilst I mend my stockings.

There was so much considerate tenderness in your epistle to-night, that, if it has not made you dearer to me, it has made me forcibly feel how very dear you are to me, by charming away half my cares.

It would be a kind of separation, if you did not love those I love.

I do not know why, but I have more confidence in your affection, when absent, than present; nay, I think that you must love me, for, in the sincerity of my heart let me say it, I believe I deserve your tenderness, because I am true, and have a degree of sensibility that you can see and relish.