Best 178 quotes in «mail quotes» category

Things always work out if you don't send that e-mail. That's another great life lesson: I've sent enough e-mails of just "f - k you, f - k you, f - k you" and hit send. I've learned a lot from never being able to take back that I sent that e-mail.

The worst thing about e-mail is that you can’t interrupt the other person. You have to read the whole thing and then e-mail them back, pointing out all their mistakes and faulty assumptions. It’s frustrating and it’s time-consuming. God bless phone calls.

This is a horrid generalization, so I'll probably get hate mail from stockbrokers. I would have been forced to get back to work, and would have been less accustomed to being in touch with my feelings and allowing my feelings to drive my decisions and behavior.

This was all the inspiration it took: We put 100 percent of ourselves in the lines. We personally take care of everything, from fulfillment to answering the mail.

Typically, your corporate e-mail account is not, today, that spam-targeted. It's more the free e-mail accounts that are spam-targeted.

Those who are seeking ways to tap into the potential of e-mail will find themselves in a position to capitalize on the pending explosion in Internet usage.

Unfortunately, the current generation of mail programs do not have checkers to see if the sender knows what he is talking about.

Using e-mail, I can communicate with scientists all over the world.

What is nonmeasurable and nonpredictable will remain nonmeasurable and nonpredictable ... no matter how much hate mail I get.

Viewers have a way of remembering the celebrity while forgetting the product. I did not know this when I paid Eleanor Roosevelt $35,000 to make a commercial for margarine. She reported that her mail was equally divided. "One half was sad because I had damaged my reputation. The other half was happy because I had damaged my reputation." Not one of my proudest memories.

What I said was, ‘the NSA does not voyeuristically pore through U.S. citizens’ e-mails.’ I stand by that.

We get information in the mail, the regular postal mail, encrypted or not, vet it like a regular news organization, format it - which is sometimes something that's quite hard to do, when you're talking about giant databases of information - release it to the public and then defend ourselves against the inevitable legal and political attacks.

When I took command in Vietnam, I gave great emphasis to food and medical care - and to the mail

Where today people surf the web and check their e-mail on their cell phones, tomorrow they will be checking their vital signs.

When I was a kid, the high point of the day was to go to the mailbox and see if any mail came for me, and I'm still stuck in that mode.

When I was training to be a pilot, there was a large section in the book on how to drop mail from the plane.

Where is love exchanged? Where is the love felt when a state administrator stuffs a welfare check into an outgoing mail?

Yes. I am one of the graduates of the William Morris famous, famous mail room from the '60s.

You do it a day at a time. You write as well as you can, you put it in the mail, you leave it under submission, you never leave it at home.

You could be somewhere where the mail was delayed three weeks and do just fine investing.

YES. BECAUSE THAT'S HOW I ROLL. LIKE A SUAVE THING. In fact, from here on, please forward my mail to 1 Suave Hill, Suave Boulevard, Suavieland, Planet of She's-So-Smooth-I-Can't-Believe-She's-Not-Butter.

You're writing it is how you feel. And when you're finished you put your signature on it and you mail it off and that's it. And that's how "Stand By Me" was really.

A love letter lost in the mail, forgotten, miss delivered and then discovered years later and received by the intended is romantic. A love letter ending up in someone's spam filter is just annoying.

You wouldn't believe the kind of hate mail I get about my work on irregular verbs.

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.

CALVIN: Hey, I got some mail! It's a Valentine card. HOBBES: From Susie Derkins! CALVIN: It says "Please be my Valentine." HOBBES: You're Susie's Valentine! CALVIN: I'm not her Valentine just because I got this in the mail, am I? Does the Post Master General know about this? HOBBES: Calvin and Susie, sitting in a tree-ee! Kay-eye-ess-ess-eye-en-gee! CALVIN: I don't have the KISS her, do I?! Is that what Valentines do??! Oh, gross! HOBBES: First comes lo-ove, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage! CALVIN: This can't be happening! I need a lawyer! She can't make me be her Valentine! HOBBES: Here she comes! Here comes Susie! SUSIE: Hi, Calvin. CALVIN: Get away from me! I'm not your Valentine! Take your card back! Eww! Girls! YECCHH! SUSIE: That card wasn't for YOU, you Moron. Didn't you read the back of the envelope? CALVIN: "Calvin, please give this to Hobbes." HOBBES?! HOBBES: Me? Really? Hot dog! Smooch City, here I come!

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.

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.

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 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’.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

There’s so much love sent through the mail.

To write is human, to get mail: Devine!

To write is human, to get mail, Divine!

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.

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

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.

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.

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