A Quote by Rutherford B. Hayes

Busy replying to letters from divers office-seekers. They come by the dozens. — © Rutherford B. Hayes
Busy replying to letters from divers office-seekers. They come by the dozens.
I have seen dozens upon dozens of productions of 'Lebensraum' in dozens of languages around the globe.
Time travels in divers paces with divers persons.
There's always a great deal of business to be transacted in one's office. There are always visitors it seems to me, an unending stream of them, who come with letters of recommendation, or come actually on substantive business.
O ay, letters - I had letters - I am persecuted with letters - I hate letters - nobody knows how to write letters; and yet one has 'em, one does not know why - they serve one to pin up one's hair.
I can never fully switch off given my work, but laying on the beach replying to a few emails on my mobile is much better than being stuck in the office.
Most open letters undoubtedly come from a good place, rising out of genuine outrage or concern or care. There is, admittedly, also a smugness to most open letters: a sense that we, as the writers of such letters, know better than those to whom the letters are addressed. We will impart our opinions to you, with or without your consent.
For those of you who still believe in the Easter Bunny and that the letters that appear in your local newspaper come from concerned citizens who really care, I've got troubling news. At least in politics, most of the letters that get published on the letters-to-the-editor page originate in the campaign headquarters of the candidates.
Most well-known serial killers have victims numbering in the dozens, have sent taunting letters to the police or have done bizarre things to the bodies.
Critics are a kind of freebooters in the republic of letters--who, like deer, goats and divers other graminivorous animals, gain subsistence by gorging upon buds and leaves of the young shrubs of the forest, thereby robbing them of their verdure, and retarding their progress to maturity.
[Henry Miller] was such a scribomaniac that even when he lived in the same house as Lawrence Durrell they often exchanged letters. For most of his life, Henry wrote literally dozens of letters a day to people he could have easily engaged in conversation - and did. The writing process, in short, was essential. As it is to all real writers, writing was life and breath to him. He put out words as a tree puts out leaves.
You can email me, but I prefer letters that come through conventional mail. I like letters that have been licked by strangers.
There are dozens and dozens of improv classes across the nation, but it really cannot be taught.
If thou be not busy for thyself now, who shall be busy for thee in time to come?
The teaching process becomes most interesting for spiritual seekers once they've managed to hit the lower samadhis. However at that point many seekers become very egotistical.
Followers of trails and of seasons, breakers of camp in the little dawn wind, seekers of watercourses over the wrinkled rind of the world, o seekers, o finders of reasons to be up and be gone.
I wrote a huge number of letters that spring: one a week to Naoko, several to Reiko, and several more to Midori. I wrote letters in the classroom, I wrote letters at my desk at home with Seagull in my lap, I wrote letters at empty tables during my breaks at the Italian restaurant. It was as if I were writing letters to hold together the pieces of my crumbling life.
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