I don’t love you,not at all, on the contrary,I detest you.You’are a naughty,gawky, foolish Cinderella. You never write me, you don’t love your own husband; you know what pleasure your letters give him, and yet you havn’t writeten him six lines, dashied off casually!
what do you do all day, Madam? what is the affair so important sa to leave you no time to write to your devoted lover? What affection stifles and puts to one side the love,the tender constant love you promised him? Of what sort can be that marvelous being,that new lover who absorbs every momenr,tyrannizes over your days,and prevents your giving any attention to your huaband? Josephine, take care! Some fine night, the doors will be broken open and there I’ll be.
Indeed, I am very uneasy, my love, at receiving no news of you; write me quickly four pages, pages full of agreeable things which shall fill my heart with the pleasantest feelings.I hope before long to crush you in my arms and cover you with a million kisses as though beneath the equator.
Bonaparte
Verona
November 13th, 1796
说到情书，我至今未正式收到男友的一封。时代不一样了啊。但是依旧怀念。 我想每一个女孩都会被最后一句打动。
，在爱情里，有时候简单的一句话，能胜过千言万语。
