Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Envelopes. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Envelopes Quotes And Sayings by 94 Authors including Honore De Balzac,Steven Wright,Iris Murdoch,Emily Carr,Anthony Doerr for you to enjoy and share.
A letter is a soul, so faithful an echo of the speaking voice that to the sensitive it is among the richest treasures of love.
I got a chain letter by fax. It's very simple. You just fax a dollar bill to everybody on the list.
A letter is a barrier, a reprieve, a charm against the world, an almost infallible method of acting at a distance.
I made myself into an envelope into which I could thrust my work deep, lick the flap, seal it from everybody.
The war drops its question mark. Memos are distributed. The collections must be protected. A small cadre of couriers has begun moving things to country estates. Locks and keys are in greater demand than ever.
The card was displayed in the post office window between 'Room to let, suit single professional person' and 'Kittens, 12 weeks old, litter trained'. Diana wouldn't have seen it if she hadn't been checking her reflection to see if her new jacket was creased.
The formulaic repetitiveness of filing and stuffing envelopes appeals to me in some fundamental life-affirming way.
I get notes posted on my windscreen wipers and through my letterbox.
He was carrying a suitcase with clothing in order to stay and another just like it with almost two thousand letters that she had written him. They were arranged by date in bundles ties with colored ribbons, and they were all unopened.
In proportion as our inward life fails, we go more constantly and desperately to the post office. You may depend on it, that the poor fellow who walks away with the greatest number of letters, proud of his extensive correspondence, has not heard from himself this long while.
Money expedited delivery.
Alongside my 'no email' policy, I resolve to make better use of the wonderful Royal Mail, and send letters and postcards to people. There is a huge pleasure in writing a letter, putting it in an envelope and sticking the stamp on it. And huge pleasure in receiving real letters, too.
Some men send me condoms and underpants. I'm not sure what they want.
I like to send letters. I love to receive them. I could never throw away a letter.
Personalized stationary is one of the small but truly necessary luxuries of life.
Exile: A tomb in which you can get mail.
The post office has a great charm at one point of our lives. When you have lived to my age, you will begin to think letters are never worth going through the rain for.
of paper with my name and phone
Post kept bound books with typed lists of gifts sent and received ... jeweler Harry Winston sent her a box of cheese
documents, he placed them in a stiffened
Black mail I suppose; an honest man paying through the nose for some of the capers of his youth. Black Mail House is what I call the place with the door, in consequence.
Chain letters are the postal equivalent of intestinal flu: you get it and pass it along to your friends.
Genius can write on the back of old envelopes but mere talent requires the finest stationery available.
As movers and the moved both know, books are heavy freight, the weight of refrigerators and sofas broken up into cardboard boxes. They make us think twice about changing addresses.
A letter, timely writ, is a rivet to the chain of affection;
And a letter, untimely delayed, is as rust to the solder.
All around the Lady Jessica - piled in corners of the Arrakeen great hall, mounded in the open spaces - stood the packaged freight of their lives: boxes, trunks, cartons, cases - some partly unpacked.
Whatever is received is received according to the nature of the recipient.
It's funny; in this era of e-mail and voice mail and all those things that even I did not grow up with, a plain old paper letter takes on amazing intimacy.
Old post cards, tin wind-up toys with rusted gears, buttons long out of fashion, ticket stubs found in a shoebox in the attic - these are the things Alice likes, not new stuff that comes sealed in plastic.
Lady Kimbuck's eyes gleamed. She took the package eagerly. She never lost an opportunity of reading compromising letters. She enjoyed them as literature, and there was never any knowing when they might come in useful.
Each year's regrets are envelopes in which messages of hope are found for the New Year.
extra pack of dog cards.
A letter makes ordinary things seem important.
I do not mourn the death of the printed letter in a snobby, East Coast, patrician way - 'Where have our manners gone?' - but because I love objects, I love paper, and I love something that I can hold to my chest for a moment. Still, I bear no grudge against the e-mail form itself.
Advertising fillers in the newspaper, philosophy books, dirty pictures in a magazine, a bundle of ten-thousand-yen bills: when you feed 'em to the fire, they're all just paper.
I have three boxes on my desk: In, Out, and Too Hard.
When narratives fracture, when words fail, I take consolation from the part of my life that always works: the stationery order. The mail-order stationery people supply every need from royal blue Quink to a dazzling variety of portable hard drives.
If you can't sent money, send tobacco.
I believe he collects different types of stationery,' said Vetinari. 'I have sometimes speculated that he might change his life for the better should he meet a young lady willing to dress up as a manila envelope.
In the old days, we painstakingly copied our emails onto paper, put a stamp on them and mailed them to arrive 4 to 5 days later. We also churned our own butter and used our phones for talking.
She sorted through the mail and held one elegant, hot-pressed envelope out to Jane. "Here is one for David. Would you prefer me to leave it here, or have it sent over to him?
You ever get a postcard, you get so excited you don't even read it! "Hey I got a - who cares."
There is something very sensual about a letter. The physical contact of pen to paper, the time set aside to focus thoughts, the folding of the paper into the envelope, licking it closed, addressing it, a chosen stamp, and then the release of the letter to the mailbox - are all acts of tenderness.
The sending of a letter constitutes a magical grasp upon the future.
Too often I find that the volume of paper expands to fill the available briefcases.
Commercial art is traditionally delivered to a client in a brown-paper bag with an invoice stapled to the outside.
The e-mail lands like a mortar in the Hum suzerainty.
It seems a long time since the morning mail could be called correspondence.
If you are sending someone some Styrofoam, what do you pack it in?
A letter is a risky thing; the writer gambles on the reader's frame of mind.
Tone was all. Gift wrap was all. Perfect the wrap, and you could put whatever you wanted in the box. You could put firecrackers. You could put dog shit.
The envelope was covered with mud and unstamped. It bore the words "To be handed to M. le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny," with the address in pencil. It must have been flung out in the hope that a passer-by would pick up the note and deliver it, which was what happened.
God, but he was sick of missives. Letters where what people resorted to when they didnt want to lie to your face. When they wanted to pretend they weren't ripping your heart out.
All that are printed and bound are not books; they do not necessarily belong to letters, but are oftener to be ranked with the other luxuries and appendages of civilized life. Base wares are palmed off under a thousand disguises.
If you can't send money, send tobacco.
Personal & Confidential. Letters so marked should be. When the contents are only printed matter, though, the minifrauder succeeds in sowing illwill & ire.
I hasten to mention that I have never actually solicited a catalogue. Although it is tempting to conclude that our mailbox hatches them by spontaneous generation, I know they are really the offspring of promiscuous mailing lists, which copulate in secret and for money.
Outbox and its inherent transient nature - is it a take on life itself ? momentary, independent, fleeting and somewhat meaningless dwelling for all creations on their way out - to sent items.
I love the rebelliousness of snail mail, and I love anything that can arrive with a postage stamp. There's something about that person's breath and hands on the letter.
People give one another things that can't be gift wrapped.
It's one thing for a courier service transport letters and documents from one city to another at a cost that only big business can afford; but it's another thing to take a letter from an Indian boy studying at the University of Ottawa to his mother in Old Crow.
Some of most valuable gifts come wrapped in the ugliest paper.
I bought a gun safe with velvet shelves and a built-in dehumidifier to house the hundreds of original [Barbara] Stanwyck letters I amassed that I first kept in the lettuce crisper of a refrigerator in my basement.
What about e-mail? It is e-mail, yes?" Morley asked, leaning even closer. "E-mail is a kind of electronic letter. It travels through the air." He seemed very smug that he knew that.
"Well, not exactly, and would you please either BACK OFF or go find a shower?
Under the California desert and subsidized by the taxpayers' money, someone had finally invented a chain letter that really worked. A very lethal chain letter.
The letter we all love to receive is one that carries so much of the writer's personality that she seems to be sitting beside us, looking at us directly and talking just as she really would, could she have come on a magic carpet, instead of sending her proxy in ink-made characters on mere paper.
Letters
I've never sent.
This life
we're only renting.
Battered the world is -
bartered -
wander over it
the stars finding
us wanting.
She wanted letters. Real letters written in his handwriting on actual paper that she could hold and keep and read whenever the mood struck her. They were proof, solid and tangible, that someone was thinking about her.
Most personal correspondence of today consists of letters the first half of which are given over to an indexed statement of why the writer hasn't written before, followed by one paragraph of small talk, with the remainder devoted to reasons why it is imperative that the letter be brought to a close.
I recognized Meg's swirly handwriting and crooked my index finger into the side of the envelope to rip it open. There was no letter. Just a picture.
A picture of Meg holding a picture of me.
The word HOME echoed through my body like a rifle shot.
Thanks to my mother, not a single cardboard box has found its way back into society. We receive gifts in boxes from stores that went out of business twenty years ago.
Nothing echoes like an empty mailbox.
A letter allows us to travel through time.
our bags, and through the family
Unboxing is a new voyeuristic phenomenon that's erotic and technical at the same time.
Toys to deftly pluck up like animal crackers and deposit safely into a crate decorated with friezes of bright circus trains carrying aardvarks, dodos, swift dromedaries, baby elephants, and plastic dinosaurs. A box of mixed metaphors.
ammunition boxes. They were both packed tight with cartridges standing on their firing pins, points upward.
Stamp-collectors are a strange, silent fish-like breed, of all ages, but only of the male sex; women, apparently, fail to see the peculiar charm of gumming bits of coloured paper into albums.
A letter is the portrait of the soul ...
This congestion in the post offices is due to what are technically known as "regulations" but what are really a series of acrostics and anagrams devised by some officials who got around a table one night and tried to be funny.
All remember about my mother," Nibs told them, "is that she often said to my father, 'Oh, how I wish I had a cheque-book of my own!' I don't know what a cheque-book is, but I should just love to give my mother one.
The folder thick enough to contain a hundred headaches.
Will you kiss my envelopes before you mail them?"
"Will you give me my job back if I say yes?" He gestured towards the doorway to her old office.
"It's all yours.
The best presents don't come in boxes.
The bell seemed to have set off an
alarm in my brain, and I glimpsed at the mysterious envelope on my desk.
There was another item I should've gotten from my single-shoe salesman.
My boxes are life's experiences aesthetically expressed.
Christmas cards ... are technically only junk mail from people you know.
A four foot box, a foot for every year.
I promise to share all my worldly goods-including letters, parcels and other items of correspondence, opened or unopened.
It was like the moment before you open a present, still hidden inside its box and wrappings; while you're waiting to find out what it is, the eagerness and impatience and curiosity and anticipation grip you in an even stronger, more thrilling way than you feel after you find out what's inside.
number printed on the letterhead. She asked the
A bag of apples, a pot of homemade jam, a scribbled note, a bunch of golden flowers, a coloured pebble, a box of seedlings, an empty scent bottle for the children ... Who needs diamonds and van-delivered bouquets?
Do as you like with me. I'm your parcel. I have only our address on me. Open me, or readdress me.
her, calling out in a confused way, 'Prizes! Prizes!' Alice had no idea what to do, and in despair she put her hand in her pocket, and pulled out a box of comfits, (luckily the
Letters are among the most significant memorial a person can leave behind them.
Mailbox scenes are the dramatic moments of our undramatic life.
The modern day soup line is a check in the mail.
'You've got mail!' exclaims the cheery automaton at America Online. The flag on the mailbox icon waves invitingly on my computer screen. For a second, I'm 10 years old again, waiting for the postman's whistle to slice the stillness of an Australian afternoon.
My motto is strong packaging, clear addressing.
I squirrel away sealed greeting cards that people give me so I can open them later when I'm having a bad day.