“This is my letter to the world
That never wrote to me”

“She read a lot, wrote letters without the letter ъ, …”

“One man was so mad at me that he ended his letter: “Beware. You will never get out of this world alive.””

“My letters are for when I don't want to be in love anymore. They're for good-bye. Because after I write in my letter, I'm not longer consumed by my all-consuming love… My letters set me free. Or at least they're supposed to.”

“A musician is similar to someone who wrote a letter to the loved one. Then decided to read it out loud instead of sending it.”

“General Sullivan granted me leave to come here upon the business of my department. I expect to return in a few days. Major Gibbs is with me, and is going to Portsmouth. This is the third letter I have wrote since I have had a line from your Excellency. Should be glad to hear from you when at leisure.”

“If I knew words enough, I could write the longest love letter in the world and never get tired”

“Temple was a man of the world amongst men of letters, a man of letters amongst men of the world.”

“Don't wait for it," I said. "Create a world, your world. Alone. Stand alone. Create. And then the love will come to you, then it comes to you. It was only when I wrote my first book that the world I wanted to live in opened to me.”

“One of the most terrifying aspects of publishing stories and books is the realization that they are going to be read, and read by strangers. I had never fully realized this before, although I had of course in my imagination dwelt lovingly upon the thought of the millions and millions of people who were going to be uplifted and enriched and delighted by the stories I wrote. It had simply never occurred to me that these the millions and millions of people might be so far from being uplifted that they would sit down and write me letters I was downright scared to open; of the three-hundred-odd letters that I received that summer I can count only thirteen that spoke kindly to me, and they were mostly from friends. Even my mother scolded me: "Dad and I did not care at all for your story in The New Yorker," she wrote sternly; "it does seem, dear, that this gloomy kind of story is what all you young people think about these days. Why don't you write something to cheer people up?"”