A profusion of fancies and quotations is out of place in a love-letter.—True feeling is always direct, and never deviates into by-ways to cull flowers of rhetoric.
A letter shows the man it is written to as well as the man it is written by.
Let your letter be written as accurately as you are able—I mean as to language, grammar, and stops; but as to the matter of it the less trouble you give yourself the better it will be. Letters should be easy and natural, and convey to the persons to whom we send just what we should say if we were with them.
Our thoughts are much alike, but female correspondence has a charm in it, of which that of the other sex is always devoid.
Letters are those winged messengers that can fly from east to west on embassies of love.
The true character of epistolary style is playfulness and urbanity.
To write a good love-letter, you ought to begin without knowing what you mean to say, and to finish without knowing what you have written.
It is by the benefit of letters that absent friends are, in a manner, brought together.
The best time to frame an answer to the letters of a friend is the moment you receive them; then the warmth of friendship and the intelligence received most forcibly cooperate.
When the spirits sink too low, the best cordial is to read over all the letters of one's friends.
It is difficult to tell to what end we keep these old memorials, for their perusal affords, in most cases, but little pleasure. Many are never looked at again, and yet we could not destroy them without a struggle; others only bring forward evidences of words broken, hopes chilled, and friendships gradually dissolved; of old attachments turned away, and stubborn contradiction of all the trusting in futurity, whose promise we once clung to. One class alone of them can call up our best feelings. If the almost forgotten memorials of the once dearly loved and long departed can carry our sympathies away from the cold, hard present, over intervening years of struggling and vexatious toil, to that almost holy period of the gone and past, calling up old thoughts and old affections; or soothing, by one lonely, unsuspected burst of tears, overcharged hearts, which have long required easing of their burthen,— there is yet enough—there is more than enough—in these old letters, to plead an excuse for so sacredly preserving them.