Letters Form A By-path Of

There Is A Natural Limit To The Success We Wish Our Friends, Even When We Have Spurred Them On Their Way.

It Is Claimed That The United States Gets The Cleanest And Purest Tea In The Market, And Certainly It Is Too Good To Warrant The Nervous Apprehension Which Strains And Dilutes It Into Nothingness. The English Do Not Strain Their Tea In The Fervid Fashion We Do. They Like To See A Few Leaves Dawdling About The Cup. They Like To Know What They Are Drinking.

[mary Wortley Montagu] Wrote More Letters, With Fewer Punctuation Marks, Than Any Englishwoman Of Her Day; And Her Nephew, The Fourth Baron Rokeby, Nearly Blinded Himself In Deciphering The Two Volumes Of Undated Correspondence Which Were Printed In 1810. Two More Followed In 1813, After Which The Gallant Baron Either Died At His Post Or Was Smitten With Despair; For Sixty-eight Cases Of Letters Lay Undisturbed ... 'les Morts N'écrivent Point,' Said Madame De Maintenon Hopefully; But Of What Benefit Is This Inactivity, When We Still Continue To Receive Their Letters?

A Dead Grief Is Easier To Bear Than A Live Trouble.

Need Drives Men To Envy As Fullness Drives Them To Selfishness.