Real Letter-writing ... Is Founded On A

For Indeed All That We Think So New To-day Has Been Acted Over And Over Again, A Shifting Comedy, By The Women Of Every Century.

Democracy Forever Teases Us With The Contrast Between Its Ideals And Its Realities, Between Its Heroic Possibilities And Its Sorry Achievements.

[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?

The Gospel Of Cheerfulness, I Had Almost Said The Gospel Of Amusement, Is Preached By People Who Lack Experience To People Who Lack Vitality. There Is A Vague Impression That The World Would Be A Good World If It Were Only Happy, That It Would Be Happy If It Were Amused, And That It Would Be Amused If Plenty Of Artificial Recreation - That Recreation For Which We Are Now Told Every Community Stands Responsible - Were Provided For Its Entertainment.

It Has Been Wisely Said That We Cannot Really Love Anybody At Whom We Never Laugh.