Best 885 quotes in «letters quotes» category

I came up with a pen and tablet hoping to write an immortal short story, but I've been having a dreadful time with my heroine— I CAN'T make her behave as I want her to behave; so I've abandoned her for the moment, and am writing to you.

I didn't come up with the lie. It wasn't mine. They handed the lie to me, and I tried like hell to make it work for a while.

I do must decidedly object, and have a most invincible and powerful repugnance to that frequent reference to the Almighty in small matters, which so many excellent persons consider necessary in the education of children. I think it monstrous to hold the source of inconceivable mercy and goodness perpetually up to them as an avenging and wrathful God who - making them in His wisdom children before they are men and women - is to punish them awfully for every little venial offence which is almost a necessary part of that stage of life.

I do not think it matters whether one agrees or not as long as one is forced to think.

I do not think it matters whether one agrees or not as long as ons is forced to think.

I don’t care what happens. I love you and that’s what I wanted to say over the phone. That’s what I wanted to write. I love you. Let things go to smash. I love you.

I don't get as much fan mail as an actor or singer would, but when I get a letter 99% of the time it's pointing out something that really had an impact. Like after 'My Own Private Rodeo' all these people wrote to me and said Dale's dad inspired them to come out. And this was when it was still illegal to be gay in Texas and a few other states. Another one that really stuck with me was this girl who survived Columbine. See, "Wings of the Dope," the episode where Luanne's boyfriend comes back as an angel, aired two weeks after the shooting. About a month after that, I got a letter from a girl who was there and hid somewhere in the school when it was all going on. She said the first thing she was gonna do if she survived was tell a friend of hers she was in love with him. She never did. He ended up being one of the kids responsible for it. So you can imagine how - you know, to her, it felt wrong to grieve almost, and she bottled it up. But she saw that episode and Buckley walking away at the end and something just let her finally break down and greive and miss the guy. I remember she quoted Luanne - 'I wonder if he's guardianing some other girl,' or something along that line, because she never had the guts to tell the kid. That really gets to people at Comic Con.

I'd write you a love letter but you'll be unfolding it for the rest of your life.

I'd send a peach pie through the mail but I trust only Jersey peaches and it looks like they don't let them into the city.

If I do depart this world out here, let it be known that I went out grinning will you, and loving it. LOVING IT. Steve, are you listening ? I FEEL GREAT. Life’s so joyous, so sad, so ephemeral, so crazy, so meaningless, so goddamn funny. This is paradise, and I wish I could give you some.

If silence is a lie, then I have lied as well.

I find everything poetic, and it’s in the corners of my heart which are sometimes mysterious that I catch a glimpse of poetry… I feel a sensation that leads me into a poetic state…

If you can only say so much you know I always look for letters and don't think they are ever dull - I have saved every one - I think they should be kept to hand down to the grandchildren," 26 March 1943

If there is anything I regret then it is that period when I allowed mystical and theological profundities to mislead me into withdrawing too much into myself. …..When you wake up in the morning and find you are not alone but can see a fellow creature there in the half-light, it makes the world look so much more welcoming. Much ,more welcoming than the devotional journals and whitewashed church walls beloved of clergymen.

If we are undone, we are the most splendidly ruined of any nation in the universe.

If you are reading this, I'm dead. Don't celebrate too much. Jesus is watching.

If you do not want to write, at least spit on a piece of paper, put it in an envelope, and send it to me. You are not taking any notice of me at all. God forgive you – all I wanted was a few words from you.

If, somewhere, any possible world can exist, then somewhere there is any letter that could possibly be written. Somewhere, all those checks really were in the mail.

If there is to be no ceiling on the amount of money a man can take out of our economy, then concomitantly there can be no foundation below which a human being cannot sink. What capitalists must realize is that you are fighting to make capitalism survive, not destroy it; you are fighting to eliminate the seeds of destruction inherent in the status quo." ~Kurt Vonnegut, Jr's letter to Don Matchan, 27 April 1947

Ignorance could be said is written in bold letters all over the institution that is supposed to be a shining light to the world

If you notice a dancing light on the water, that’s me. The light kisses your eyes,

I get so god damn lonely and sad and filled with regrets some days. It overwhelms me as I’m sitting on the bus; watching the golden leaves from a window; a sudden burst of realisation in the middle of the night. I can’t help it and I can’t stop it. I’m alone as I’ve always been and sometimes it hurts…. but I’m learning to breathe deep through it and keep walking. I’m learning to make things nice for myself. To comfort my own heart when I wake up sad. To find small bits of friendship in a crowd full of strangers. To find a small moment of joy in a blue sky, in a trip somewhere not so far away, a long walk an early morning in December, or a handwritten letter to an old friend simply saying ”I thought of you. I hope you’re well.” No one will come and save you. No one will come riding on a white horse and take all your worries away. You have to save yourself, little by little, day by day. Build yourself a home. Take care of your body. Find something to work on. Something that makes you excited, something you want to learn. Get yourself some books and learn them by heart. Get to know the author, where he grew up, what books he read himself. Take yourself out for dinner. Dress up for no one but you and simply feel nice. it’s a lovely feeling, to feel pretty. You don’t need anyone to confirm it. I get so god damn lonely and sad and filled with regrets some days, but I’m learning to breathe deep through it and keep walking. I’m learning to make things nice for myself. Slowly building myself a home with things I like. Colors that calm me down, a plan to follow when things get dark, a few people I try to treat right. I don’t sometimes, but it’s my intent to do so. I’m learning.I’m learning to make things nice for myself. I’m learning to save myself. I’m trying, as I always will.

I haven’t written you a poem in years it seems. How can it be my fault when the words to describe you have not yet been created? When the alphabet lacks the very letters? How can it be my fault when your loveliness only grows by the time I reach for pen and paper? Tell me how I am at fault when I am only a beginner in poems and you are exquisite poetry? To write you in words is to put a veil upon you. Why must I write when I can kiss you instead?

I had seen the world as either white or black. It is only when I read the pages of her diary that I understood why the sky looked so grey.

I hate it, find it hideous, loathsome. I have built it up to a devouring, malicious monster. I am letting it ruin my whole life. My reason is leaving me, and I want to get out of this.

I have only made this letter longer because I have not had the time to make it shorter." (Letter 16, 1657)

I have never more wanted to see you than I do now — just to sit and look at you,

I like to send letters. I love to receive them. I could never throw away a letter.

I keep hoping that I’ll come up with something. To express the love of two lovers by the marriage of two complementary colours, their blending and their contrast, the mysterious vibrations of related tones. To express that thought of a brow by the radiance of a light tone against a dark background. To express hope by some star. Someone’s passion by the radiance of the setting sun.

{Letter from Fawcett to the great Robert Ingersoll, 1894} I do so wish, that, in all these big questions, literary men would take you more for a guide than they do, or seem to do. You have, of course, an immense constituency; but your love of letters and your deeply poetic spirit render you worthy of a far greater reverence and respect from writers than it seems to me that you receive. I want the brilliancy of your thought to penetrate our literature profoundly and permanently. But of course that will come. The younger generation of writers cannot escape you any more than the air they breath. You will, indeed, be the air they breath, -- and hence, in many cases, if not all, their inspiration. Especially should the poets love you and sit at your feet. If you die before you see the change, I believe that those who now love you and survive you will see how much of the mere pietistic rubbish in modern poetry has been gradually yet surely swept away by the mighty besom of your fearless and noble intellect.

I like your energy. I love your legs. I long to see you.

I'm not sure if I should break this to you but you'd remain kinda broken till you let me in.

I'm accustomed to reading Georgian and Victorian letters and sometimes you simply know in your gut that a blithe sentence is covering up a deeper emotion.

I’m imagining your response as you read this letter —which by then will have spent a week or two sitting in this lagoon, then another month riding the chaos of the Italian mail system, before finally crossing the Atlantic and being passed over to the US Post Office, who will have transferred it into a sack to be pushed along in a cart by a mailman who’ll have slugged through rain or snow in order to slip it through your mail slot where it will have dropped to the floor, to wait for you to find it.

I miss you, mourn for you, and walk the streets alone- often at night, beside, I fall asleep in tears, for your dear face, yet not one word comes back to me. If it is finished, tell me, and I will raise the lid to my box of Phantoms, and lay one more love in; but if it lives and beats still, still lives and beats for me, then say so, and I will strike the strings to one more strain of happiness before I die.

I love you more than I could have ever imagined to love.

I love you so much, much, much that it just hurts every minute I’m without you.

I’m here for you. Always. Do you feel me?Hear me? I talk to you every night, does it reach you?

I myself was passionate about games and contests... I wanted to be the first in translation, wandering and writing.

In a sick country every step to health is an insult to those who live on its sickness.

In a man's letters, you know, madam, his soul lies naked. His letters are only the mirror of his heart. Whatever passes within him is there shown undisguised in its natural progress; nothing is invented, nothing distorted; you see systems in their elements, you discover action in their motives. Samuel Johnson to Mrs. Thrale (1777)

In a real poem a sound does not swallow a letter, but a letter swallows a sound.

I need you more and more, and the great world grows wider, and dear ones fewer and fewer, every day that you stay away. My heart goes wandering around and calls for Susie...My heart is full of you; none other than you are in my thoughts, yet when I seek to say to you something not for the world, words fail me. If you were here, we need not talk at all for our eyes would whisper for us and, your hand fast in mine, we would not ask for language.

Innocence is the beginning of ignorance. Experience is the end of stupidity.

In the square field of the game he has found the ground mirror of the circular plan of the heavenly sphere. Through play, he was becoming aware of the crux gemmata – the sign of Christ, and he created the letters of the Glagolitic script, and turned the trinitarian game into a tetragonic one. He had made the Glagolitic script, a game of four gospels in which the symbol of Christ’s name is placed. The Glagolitic is his game with three marbles – one for each of the messengers of the good news.

Instead of writing epitaph on your grave ; more beautiful and memorable is to leave some hand written letters to your wife, sons and daughters and grandchildren.

In strokes of fresh blue, pink and orange dispersed with soft white kisses, the sky writes letters to me.

In this story, we both are the ends...

I often thought how peculiar my life must look to someone reading those letters, far away.

I put together letters, I formed words, I spoke.