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Do you have a fave love story of all time? Why you like that story? I got one favorite love story, but it was during hitler's time. Let's tell our favorite love story, and tell us why you like that love story. come on guys..
- asc_26
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The Notebook
I dont have words to describe it....see it or read it for yourself. Its a great, damn great love story.
I dont have words to describe it....see it or read it for yourself. Its a great, damn great love story.
- zam
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zam wrote:The Notebook
I dont have words to describe it....see it or read it for yourself. Its a great, damn great love story.
Yeah, i agree with you.
- asc_26
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- zam
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- sara_uk
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- weary_heart
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Zam, i've watched the movie but i didn't read the novel. it's a beautiful and rare love story that can caress everyone's heart. Here's my fave love story of all time. Well, what to do guys.. its good to be young at heart.
It is cold, so bitter cold, on this dark, winter day
in 1942. But it is no different from any other day in
this Nazi concentration camp. I stand shivering in my
thin rags, still in disbelief that this nightmare is
happening. I am just a young boy. I should be playing
with friends; I should be going to school; I should be
looking forward to a future, to growing up and
marrying, and having a family of my own. But those
dreams are for the living, and I am no longer one of
them. Instead, I am almost dead, surviving from day to
day, from hour to hour, ever since I was taken from my
home and brought here with tens of thousands other
Jews. Will I still be alive tomorrow? Will I be taken
to the gas chamber tonight?
Back and forth I walk next to the barbed wire fence,
trying to keep my emaciated body warm. I am hungry,
but I have been hungry for longer than I want to
remember. I am always hungry. Edible food seems like a
dream. Each day as more of us disappear, the happy
past seems like a mere dream, and I sink deeper and
deeper into despair. Suddenly, I notice a young girl
walking past on the other side of the barbed wire. She
stops and looks at me with sad eyes, eyes that seem to
say that she understands, that she, too, cannot fathom
why I am here. I want to look away, oddly ashamed for
this stranger to see me like this, but I cannot tear
my eyes from hers.
Then she reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a red
apple. A beautiful, shiny red apple. Oh, how long has
it been since I have seen one! She looks cautiously to
the left and to the right, and then with a smile of
triumph, quickly throws the apple over the fence. I
run to pick it up, holding it in my trembling, frozen
fingers. In my world of death, this apple is an
_expression of life, of love. I glance up in time to
see the girl disappearing into the distance.
The next day, I cannot help myself-I am drawn at the
same time to that spot near the fence. Am I crazy for
hoping she will come again? Of course. But in here, I
cling to any tiny scrap of hope. She has given me hope
and I must hold tightly to it.
And again, she comes. And again, she brings me an
apple, flinging it over the fence with that same sweet
smile.
This time I catch it, and hold it up for her to see.
Her eyes twinkle. Does she pity me? Perhaps. I do not
care, though. I am just so happy to gaze at her. And
for the first time in so long, I feel my heart move
with emotion.
For seven months, we meet like this. Sometimes we
exchange a few words. Sometimes, just an apple. But
she is feeding more than my belly, this angel from
heaven. She is feeding my soul. And somehow, I know I
am feeding hers as well.
One day, I hear frightening news: we are being shipped
to another camp. This could mean the end for me. And
it definitely means the end for me and my friend.
The next day when I greet her, my heart is breaking,
and I can barely speak as I say what must be said: "Do
not bring me an apple tomorrow," I tell her. "I am
being sent to another camp. We will never see each
other again." Turning before I lose all control, I run
away from the fence. I cannot bear to look back. If I
did, I know she would see me standing there, with
tears streaming down my face.
Months pass and the nightmare continues. But the
memory of this girl sustains me through the terror,
the pain, the hopelessness. Over and over in my mind,
I see her face, her kind eyes, I hear her gentle
words, I taste those apples.
And then one day, just like that, the nightmare is
over. The war has ended. Those of us who are still
alive are freed. I have lost everything that was
precious to me, including my family. But I still have
the memory of this girl, a memory I carry in my heart
and gives me the will to go on as I move to America to
start a new life.
Years pass. It is 1957. I am living in New York City.
A friend convinces me to go on a blind date with a
lady friend of his. Reluctantly, I agree. But she is
nice, this woman named Roma. And like me, she is an
immigrant, so we have at least that in common.
"Where were you during the war?" Roma asks me gently,
in that delicate way immigrants ask one another
questions about those years.
"I was in a concentration camp in Germany," I reply.
Roma gets a far away look in her eyes, as if she is
remembering something painful yet sweet.
"What is it?" I ask.
"I am just thinking about something from my past,
Herman," Roma explains in a voice suddenly very soft.
"You see, when I was a young girl, I lived near a
concentration camp. There was a boy there, a prisoner,
and for a long while, I used to visit him every day. I
remember I used to bring him apples. I would throw the
apple over the fence, and he would be so happy."
Roma sighs heavily and continues. "It is hard to
describe how we felt about each other-after all, we
were young, and we only exchanged a few words when we
could-but I can tell you, there was much love there. I
assume he was killed like so many others. But I cannot
bear to think that, and so I try to remember him as he
was for those months we were given together."
With my heart pounding so loudly I think it will
explode, I look directly at Roma and ask, "And did
that boy say to you one day, 'Do not bring me an apple
tomorrow. I am being sent to another camp'?"
"Why, yes," Roma responds, her voice trembling.
"But, Herman, how on earth could you possibly know
that?"
I take her hands in mine and answer, "Because I was
that young boy, Roma."
For many moments, there is only silence. We cannot
take our eyes from each other, and as the veils of
time lift, we recognize the soul behind the eyes, the
dear friend we once loved so much, whom we have never
stopped loving, whom we have never stopped
remembering.
Finally, I speak: "Look, Roma, I was separated from
you once, and I don't ever want to be separated from
you again. Now, I am free, and I want to be together
with you forever. Dear, will you marry me?"
I see that same twinkle in her eye that I used to see
as Roma says, "Yes, I will marry you," and we embrace,
the embrace we longed to share for so many months, but
barbed wire came between us. Now, nothing ever will
again.
Almost forty years have passed since that day when I
found my Roma again. Destiny brought us together the
first time during the war to show me a promise of hope
and now it had reunited us to fulfill that promise.
Valentine's Day, 1996. I bring Roma to the Oprah
Winfrey Show to honor her on national television. I
want to tell her infront of millions of people what I
feel in my heart every day:
"Darling, you fed me in the concentration camp when I
was hungry. And I am still hungry, for something I
will never get enough of: I am only hungry for your
love."
What can you say?....
It is cold, so bitter cold, on this dark, winter day
in 1942. But it is no different from any other day in
this Nazi concentration camp. I stand shivering in my
thin rags, still in disbelief that this nightmare is
happening. I am just a young boy. I should be playing
with friends; I should be going to school; I should be
looking forward to a future, to growing up and
marrying, and having a family of my own. But those
dreams are for the living, and I am no longer one of
them. Instead, I am almost dead, surviving from day to
day, from hour to hour, ever since I was taken from my
home and brought here with tens of thousands other
Jews. Will I still be alive tomorrow? Will I be taken
to the gas chamber tonight?
Back and forth I walk next to the barbed wire fence,
trying to keep my emaciated body warm. I am hungry,
but I have been hungry for longer than I want to
remember. I am always hungry. Edible food seems like a
dream. Each day as more of us disappear, the happy
past seems like a mere dream, and I sink deeper and
deeper into despair. Suddenly, I notice a young girl
walking past on the other side of the barbed wire. She
stops and looks at me with sad eyes, eyes that seem to
say that she understands, that she, too, cannot fathom
why I am here. I want to look away, oddly ashamed for
this stranger to see me like this, but I cannot tear
my eyes from hers.
Then she reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a red
apple. A beautiful, shiny red apple. Oh, how long has
it been since I have seen one! She looks cautiously to
the left and to the right, and then with a smile of
triumph, quickly throws the apple over the fence. I
run to pick it up, holding it in my trembling, frozen
fingers. In my world of death, this apple is an
_expression of life, of love. I glance up in time to
see the girl disappearing into the distance.
The next day, I cannot help myself-I am drawn at the
same time to that spot near the fence. Am I crazy for
hoping she will come again? Of course. But in here, I
cling to any tiny scrap of hope. She has given me hope
and I must hold tightly to it.
And again, she comes. And again, she brings me an
apple, flinging it over the fence with that same sweet
smile.
This time I catch it, and hold it up for her to see.
Her eyes twinkle. Does she pity me? Perhaps. I do not
care, though. I am just so happy to gaze at her. And
for the first time in so long, I feel my heart move
with emotion.
For seven months, we meet like this. Sometimes we
exchange a few words. Sometimes, just an apple. But
she is feeding more than my belly, this angel from
heaven. She is feeding my soul. And somehow, I know I
am feeding hers as well.
One day, I hear frightening news: we are being shipped
to another camp. This could mean the end for me. And
it definitely means the end for me and my friend.
The next day when I greet her, my heart is breaking,
and I can barely speak as I say what must be said: "Do
not bring me an apple tomorrow," I tell her. "I am
being sent to another camp. We will never see each
other again." Turning before I lose all control, I run
away from the fence. I cannot bear to look back. If I
did, I know she would see me standing there, with
tears streaming down my face.
Months pass and the nightmare continues. But the
memory of this girl sustains me through the terror,
the pain, the hopelessness. Over and over in my mind,
I see her face, her kind eyes, I hear her gentle
words, I taste those apples.
And then one day, just like that, the nightmare is
over. The war has ended. Those of us who are still
alive are freed. I have lost everything that was
precious to me, including my family. But I still have
the memory of this girl, a memory I carry in my heart
and gives me the will to go on as I move to America to
start a new life.
Years pass. It is 1957. I am living in New York City.
A friend convinces me to go on a blind date with a
lady friend of his. Reluctantly, I agree. But she is
nice, this woman named Roma. And like me, she is an
immigrant, so we have at least that in common.
"Where were you during the war?" Roma asks me gently,
in that delicate way immigrants ask one another
questions about those years.
"I was in a concentration camp in Germany," I reply.
Roma gets a far away look in her eyes, as if she is
remembering something painful yet sweet.
"What is it?" I ask.
"I am just thinking about something from my past,
Herman," Roma explains in a voice suddenly very soft.
"You see, when I was a young girl, I lived near a
concentration camp. There was a boy there, a prisoner,
and for a long while, I used to visit him every day. I
remember I used to bring him apples. I would throw the
apple over the fence, and he would be so happy."
Roma sighs heavily and continues. "It is hard to
describe how we felt about each other-after all, we
were young, and we only exchanged a few words when we
could-but I can tell you, there was much love there. I
assume he was killed like so many others. But I cannot
bear to think that, and so I try to remember him as he
was for those months we were given together."
With my heart pounding so loudly I think it will
explode, I look directly at Roma and ask, "And did
that boy say to you one day, 'Do not bring me an apple
tomorrow. I am being sent to another camp'?"
"Why, yes," Roma responds, her voice trembling.
"But, Herman, how on earth could you possibly know
that?"
I take her hands in mine and answer, "Because I was
that young boy, Roma."
For many moments, there is only silence. We cannot
take our eyes from each other, and as the veils of
time lift, we recognize the soul behind the eyes, the
dear friend we once loved so much, whom we have never
stopped loving, whom we have never stopped
remembering.
Finally, I speak: "Look, Roma, I was separated from
you once, and I don't ever want to be separated from
you again. Now, I am free, and I want to be together
with you forever. Dear, will you marry me?"
I see that same twinkle in her eye that I used to see
as Roma says, "Yes, I will marry you," and we embrace,
the embrace we longed to share for so many months, but
barbed wire came between us. Now, nothing ever will
again.
Almost forty years have passed since that day when I
found my Roma again. Destiny brought us together the
first time during the war to show me a promise of hope
and now it had reunited us to fulfill that promise.
Valentine's Day, 1996. I bring Roma to the Oprah
Winfrey Show to honor her on national television. I
want to tell her infront of millions of people what I
feel in my heart every day:
"Darling, you fed me in the concentration camp when I
was hungry. And I am still hungry, for something I
will never get enough of: I am only hungry for your
love."
What can you say?....
- asc_26
- Dubai forums GURU
- Posts: 2343
- Location: United Arab Emirates
- PrettyPenny
- Dubai Expat Helper
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weary_heart wrote:sara_uk wrote:love
i understand sara
Those who doesnt have it, would never appreciate it.
- zam
- Dubai Master of Thread Hijackers
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- Posts: 1998
- Reply
"Love Story"
Made me cry.... no other book has done that.... Though "A walk to remember" came close....
Made me cry.... no other book has done that.... Though "A walk to remember" came close....
- Nosferatu
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- bushra21
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bushra21 wrote:*yawn*
I second that *yawn* *yawn*
Bushra long time no see, hope ur coming for the tea party thing
- nosoup4u
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do i have to wear a polka dot print dress from the sixties?and tie a bow in my hair?
- bushra21
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bushra21 wrote:do i have to wear a polka dot print dress from the sixties?and tie a bow in my hair?
hmmm.. not a bad idea.. maybe all women coming should wear that and all men should wear errr.. polka dot shirts with pants and a collar bow?
- nosoup4u
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- Mi Ange mi Demon
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Mi Ange mi Demon wrote:Sweet November....I like this story
i've watched sweet november many times. charlize teron and keanu reeves remarkably played the role. do u think it's practical? changing of boyfriend every month? hahaha..but the story is good
- asc_26
- Dubai forums GURU
- Posts: 2343
- Location: United Arab Emirates
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asc_26 wrote:Mi Ange mi Demon wrote:Sweet November....I like this story
i've watched sweet november many times. charlize teron and keanu reeves remarkably played the role. do u think it's practical? changing of boyfriend every month? hahaha..but the story is good
Dunno... All i know is that Mr November was sooo s.e.x.y...
- Mi Ange mi Demon
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Mi Ange mi Demon wrote:asc_26 wrote:Mi Ange mi Demon wrote:Sweet November....I like this story
i've watched sweet november many times. charlize teron and keanu reeves remarkably played the role. do u think it's practical? changing of boyfriend every month? hahaha..but the story is good
Dunno... All i know is that Mr November was sooo s.e.x.y...
Hahaha..u are a keanu reeves die hard fan. i like him in matrix..
- asc_26
- Dubai forums GURU
- Posts: 2343
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Mi Ange mi Demon wrote:asc_26 wrote:Mi Ange mi Demon wrote:Sweet November....I like this story
i've watched sweet november many times. charlize teron and keanu reeves remarkably played the role. do u think it's practical? changing of boyfriend every month? hahaha..but the story is good
Dunno... All i know is that Mr November was sooo s.e.x.y...
Hahaha..u are a keanu reeves die hard fan. i like him in matrix..
- asc_26
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- Posts: 2343
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- Encejo7
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- asc_26
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i have my own love story and one day i will make it into a film so you can all watch :p and nooooo its not what u lot are thinking (dirty minds)
- tinkerbella
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asc_26 wrote:Mi Ange mi Demon wrote:asc_26 wrote:Mi Ange mi Demon wrote:Sweet November....I like this story
i've watched sweet november many times. charlize teron and keanu reeves remarkably played the role. do u think it's practical? changing of boyfriend every month? hahaha..but the story is good
Dunno... All i know is that Mr November was sooo s.e.x.y...
Hahaha..u are a keanu reeves die hard fan. i like him in matrix..
Yep
- Mi Ange mi Demon
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