Anais, I can’t say much now—I am in a fever. Don’t let the silences worry you: you are all around me like a bright flame. When I see you all that I wanted to say vanishes—the time is so precious, and words are extraneous. It is only when you go that I realize completely your presence. You numb me.
You arouse in me such a mixture of feelings. I felt a singular exaltation, a surge of vitality, then of lassitude, of blankness, of wonder, of incredulity…everything, everything. I don’t know how to approach you. Only come to me—get closer and closer to me. It will be beautiful, I promise you.
You make me tremendously happy to hold me undivided—to let me be the artist, as it were, and yet not forgo the man, the animal, the hungry, insatiable lover. No woman has ever granted me all the privileges I need—and you, why you sing out do blithely, so boldly, with a laugh—yes, you invite me to go ahead, be myself, venture anything. I adore you for that. That is where you are truly regal, a woman extraordinary. 
I don’t know what I expect of you, but it is something in the way of a miracle.
I want always to see you laughing. It belongs to you. I have been thinking of places we ought to go together—little, obscure places, here and there in Paris. Just to say—here I went with Anais—here we ate, or danced, or got drunk together.
I am almost afraid to suggest it—but Anais, when I think of how you press against me, of how eagerly you open your legs and how wet you are, of the room tottering, of falling on you in darkness and knowing nothing—I shiver and groan with delight.
I am going to demand everything of you—even the impossible, because you encourage it. You are really strong. I like even your deceit, your treachery. I was thinking of how I could betray you, but I can’t. I want you. I want to undress you, vulgarize you a bit. Anais! I want to own you, use you. I want to fuck you, I want to teach you things.

—Henry Miller, in a private letter to Anais Nin, 1932