But of course they are there only waiting for you to ask for them if the walls look too bare. I thought you would want to put things from Texas in it—I pictured some gleaming longhorns—I hope you put them somewhere. In June of 1945, his wife and high-school sweetheart, Arline, passed away after succumbing to tuberculosis. She was 25-years-old. 16 months later, in October of 1946, Richard wrote his late wife a heartbreaking love letter and sealed it in an envelope. It remained unopened until after his death in 1988.

This is exciting. But it could also fall flat, in which case I’ll delete it and pretend it never happened.

Letters

Finished the embroidery on both the pink & blue squares (both floss not flannel) They both look cute as can be. I suggest that you people buy enough cigarettes to keep here for yourselves to smoke because, by God, you will not go and buy them on my time. So we are not out to see how bad we can make this man look, we are out to see how good we can make him look, and I will enforce it myself! If any employee has a complaint, direct that complaint to me, Mike Davis, personally. I don’t know why we live—the gift of life comes to us from I don’t know what source or for what purpose; but I believe we can go on living for the reason that (always of course up to a certain point) life is the most valuable thing we know anything about and it is therefore presumptively a great mistake to surrender it while there is any yet left in the cup. In other words consciousness is an illimitable power, and though at times it may seem to be all consciousness of misery, yet in the way it propagates itself from wave to wave, so that we never cease to feel, though at moments we appear to, try to, pray to, there is something that holds one in one’s place, makes it a standpoint in the universe which it is probably good not to forsake. You are right in your consciousness that we are all echoes and reverberations of the same, and you are noble when your interest and pity as to everything that surrounds you, appears to have a sustaining and harmonizing power. Only don’t, I beseech you, generalize too much in these sympathies and tendernesses—remember that every life is a special problem which is not yours but another’s, and content yourself with the terrible algebra of your own. Don’t melt too much into the universe, but be as solid and dense and fixed as you can. We all live together, and those of us who love and know, live so most. We help each other—even unconsciously, each in our own effort, we lighten the effort of others, we contribute to the sum of success, make it possible for others to live. Sorrow comes in great waves—no one can know that better than you—but it rolls over us, and though it may almost smother us it leaves us on the spot and we know that if it is strong we are stronger, inasmuch as it passes and we remain. It wears us, uses us, but we wear it and use it in return; and it is blind, whereas we after a manner see.

I tried that day to tell you some things through him, but it was such a horrible day for me that I do not know if my words were received as I wanted them to be. Gertrude Love has been hired to work in our kitchen and do light office cleaning. She will start Monday, January 9th. Humans have been making lists for even longer than they’ve been writing letters. They are the shorthand for what really matters to us: our hopes and aspirations; likes and dislikes; rules for living and loving; records of our memories and reminders of the things we want to do before we die. One other thing. I’d rather have characters say ‘What do you mean?’ than ‘Whadd’ya mean?’ which I would never, ever write myself, even if you held me down on a table and threatened me with hot skewers. In case anyone does not know who owns Tiger Oil Company or Tiger Drilling Co., Inc., it is me – Edward Mike Davis. Do not let anyone think they are the owner but me.A detailed material transfer will be made out for any piece of equipment moved into or out of the yard or any place. I’ll be keeping this discussion open indefinitely. It might become a permanent home for suggestions. And I’ll be replying to as many of you as humanly possible. I’ll work out a way to compile and share these letters in the near future, assuming I can get the necessary permission. Mr. Young, I have a second question to ask you – and I want you to think hard about this one: Why did you ever consider becoming a poet? With your unparalleled ability to spew nonsense, you could have easily secured a job as a radio show host, or better yet, a televangelist.

A heartwarming reply from Roald Dahl to seven-year-old Amy, who had sent him one of her dreams, contained in a bottle, along with a letter. The dream is an allusion to the BFG, one of Amy's favorite Dahl books, wonderful, magical story of a Big Friendly Giant who collects nice dreams and then blows them through the windows of sleeping children. From Virginia Woolf's heart-breaking suicide letter, to Queen Elizabeth II's recipe for drop scones sent to President Eisenhower; from the first recorded use of the expression 'OMG' in a letter to Winston Churchill, to Gandhi's appeal for calm to Hitler; and from Iggy Pop's beautiful letter of advice to a troubled young fan, to Leonardo da Vinci's remarkable job application letter, Letters of Note is a celebration of the power of written correspondence which captures the humour, seriousness, sadness and brilliance that make up all of our lives. All drivers are to be cautioned about the loads they are hauling so they don’t tear the bridges down or ruin what they are hauling. There is not a single decent line in the entire thing. In fact, it is so filled with senseless monstrosity that I feel quite certain a 16-year-old could have written it. I nearly puked at the end of line 8, and by line 15 I stopped reading entirely.Therefore now, on one of the last nights I will spend on this White House stationery, I would like to write my message to you. Leigh Hunt (1784 - 1859) was a friend and mentor to the poet John Keats. He wrote a letter to Keats's carer Joseph Severn on 8th March, 1821, unaware that Keats had already died some two weeks previously. The theme of the letter was also echoed in Leonard Cohen's last letter to his friend and muse Marianne (written 200 years later).