Best 178 quotes in «mail quotes» category

In this country, two things stand first in rank: your flag and your mail. You all know what honor you pay to your flag, but you should know, also, that your mail, — just that ordinary postal card—is also important. But a postal card, or any form of mail, is not important, in that way, until you drop it through a slot in this building, and with a stamp on it, or into a mail box outdoors. Up to that instant it is but a common card, which anybody can pick up and carry off without committing a criminal act. But as soon as it is in back of this partition, or in a mail box, a magical transformation occurs; and anybody who now should willfully purloin it, or obstruct its trip in any way, will find prison doors awaiting him. What a frail thing ordinary mail is! A baby could rip it apart, but no adult is so foolish as to do it. That small stamp which you stick on it, is, you might say, a postal official, going right along with it, having it always in his sight.

He pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. There was a pile of mail waiting on the floor, which made him chuckle. The last memories of normal life, he thought. He picked up his mail and tossed it into the garbage.

I do not follow politicians on Twitter; if they want to lie to me, it will cost them a stamp.

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.

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.

It is only that I am fascinated by the postal system. It's really quite marvelous. He looked at her curiously, and she couldn't tell if he believed her. Luckily for her, it was the truth, even if she'd said it to cover a lie ... 'I should like to follow a letter one day,' she said, 'just to see where it goes.' 'To the address on its front, I would imagine,' he said. She pressed her lips together to acknowledge his little gibe, then said, 'But *how*? That is the miracle.' He smiled a bit. 'I must confess, I had not thought of the postal system in such biblical terms, but I am always happy to e educated.' 'It is difficult to imagine a letter traveling any faster than it does today,' she said happily, ' unless we learn how to fly.' 'There are always pigeons,' he said. She laughed. 'Can you imagine an entire flock, lifting off to the sky to deliver our mail?' 'It is a terrifying prospect. Especially for those walking beneath.' That brought another giggle. Anne could not recall the last time she had felt so merry.

It took him almost a half hour to write a message of only five lines. It took yet another fifteen minutes to delete whatever might be construed as ambiguity, desperation, or references to a history that he no longer had access to. Finally, he took a deep breath and hit ‘send’.

Man brevene med posten bandt og sagde: Vær ei sene! De svarte: Vi var aldrig vant på vei at tælle stene!

I've always felt there is something sacred in a piece of paper that travels the earth from hand to hand, head to head, heart to heart.

PACKAGE MARRIAGE Arranged / Mail Order – Tripping over objects in a dark room, hoping to find the light switch Kamil Ali

Mrs. Spencer distrusted letters on principle, because they always seemed to want to entangle her in so many small, disagreeable obligations--visits, or news of old friends she had conveniently forgotten, or family responsibilities that always had to be met quickly and without enjoyment.

The door opened. She looked in the mirror and suppressed a curse. Slipping in behind some tourists, that winged shadow was back again. Karou rose and made for the bathroom, where she took the note that Kishmish had come to deliver. Again it bore a single word. But this time the word was Please.

She never opened her mail in the middle of the day. Sometimes she forgot about it for a week or more until people rang to complain. Nor did she check her answering machine messages. In fact, it had only been in the last year that she had finally bought an answering machine, and she steadfastly refused to have a mobile, to the incredulity of all those around her, who didn’t believe that people could actually function without one. But Frieda wanted to be able to escape from incessant communications and demands. She didn’t want to be at anyone’s beck and call, and she liked cutting herself off from the urgent inanities of the world. When she was on her own, she liked to be truly alone. Out of contact and adrift.

some letters one really writes to oneself; some letters just describe what it is we hope will be returned.

All that means is that it wasn't personal to you. But it was personal to me.

To write is human, to get mail, Divine!

There’s so much love sent through the mail.

To write is human, to get mail: Devine!

To write is human, to receive a letter: Devine!

Usually if you pray from the heart, you get an answer—the phone rings or the mail comes, and light gets in through the cracks, so you can see the next right thing to do. That’s all you need.

We worshipped a great white body that was an avalanche of good news, and we slit it open in every part. “That can’t go through the mail,” the postman gasped, “because that is a super-stabbed body!” The super-stabbed body rose up, with many butterknives sticking out of it, and said, “I AM the mail.” It had so many lovers.

Adamant," Doren said proudly, handing over the shield. "We fished it out of the tar pit where we found the shirt of mail." "Probably all belonged to the same careless adventurer," Newel speculated. "Too much money, not enough talent.

A good way to lose weight is to put salt on your ass and go to a petting zoo. But stay away from goats because I've seen them fornicate with a mail box.

And I love the hate mail I get, the unsigned, misspelled letters I get telling me to go back to Russia or wherever.

An e-mail from a reader says that liberals like to take the moral high ground, even though their own moral relativism means that there is no moral high ground.

And Mandelstam says a poet - you go down to the shore and you see an unlikely looking from a bottle from the past, you open it. Mandelstam says, "It's okay to do so. I'm not reading someone else's mail. It was addressed to whoever found it. I found it, therefore it's addressed to me.

As of today, the Postfix mail transport agent has almost 50,000 lines of code, comments not included.

An object imbued with intent — it has power, it's treasure, we're drawn to it. An object devoid of intent — it's random, it's imitative, it repels us. It's like a piece of junk mail to be thrown away.

Any editing, software work, and mail is done in this exported Plan 9

Disclosure of private e-mails from government officials has been a legal issue in many states.

Because Washington state now votes by mail, elections here tend to play out, at an agonizingly slow speed, over many days and, sometimes, weeks.

Congratulations. Your official super-nerd badge is in the mail.

Direct mail - it falls out of every magazine you open these days

A writer can get into a vast deal of trouble through misquotation. If you ever want to receive lots of mail, I recommend you get a Shakespeare quote wrong in a magazine or newspaper.

Everybody is a writer. Everybody uses e-mail and has Facebook pages and tweets.

E-mails are the cancer of modern business.

E-mail is far more convenient than the telephone, as far as I'm concerned. I would throw my phone away if I could get away with it.

Hillary [Clinton] bleached and deleted 33,000 e-mails after a congressional subpoena. She got a subpoena from Congress and she said, this is no good, this is terrible, because those 33,000 e-mails had bad stuff.

Fan mail is one thing, but fans you meet in person are a different matter entirely.

Forward my mail to Mars.

Fundraisers treat men completely differently than women. As a matter of fact, many of them have the default on their direct mail set up to read "Mister," and it really rankles a lot of women.

Half my fan mail comes from Japan.

H. L. Mencken told me once that he answered all his mail, pleasant and unpleasant, with just one line, 'You may be right.' That's the way I feel now. It is in the realm of possibility, just barely, that I could be the one who's wrong.

Every program attempts to expand until it can read mail. Those programs which cannot so expand are replaced by ones which can.

I am at a loss to figure out how to rid my e-mail of those bottom-feeders of the electronic world, the generators of spam.... If I were Emperor of the World, I would lock all the spammers in a room and force them to watch nothing but TV commercials for the rest of their miserable lives, and I would condemn the people who respond to spammers to do nothing but clean the toilets in this room.

I always take a relationship to the next level. If that works out, I take it to the next level after that, until I finally reach that level when it becomes absolutely necessary for me to leave.

I already shred all my mail. What am I supposed to do now? Use pay phones? Smoke signals? Train pigeons? There's no such thing as privacy anymore.

I also request that, starting today, you refer to me by my new name and use the feminine pronoun (except in official mail to the confinement facility).

I am not overlooking any mail. I'm looking at all of it. I even wrote back to the Viagra people.

If e-mail had been around before the telephone was invented, people would have said, 'Hey, forget e-mail! With this new telephone invention I can actually talk to people!'.