Quotes About Envelope

On Broadway, only the fire doors separate you from the sidewalk and you're lucky if the sound of a police car doesn't rip the envelope twice a night.

I sealed my Birthday wishes for you in an envelope full of love and respect so that it reaches you and goes straight to your heart. Have a wonderful year ahead.

There was something more: around this sentient protoplasmic layer, an ultimate envelope was beginning to become apparent to me, taking on its own individuality and gradually detaching itself like a luminous aura. This envelope was not only conscious but thinking, and from the time when I first became aware of it, it was always there that I found concentrated, in an ever more dazzling and consistent form, the essence or rather the very Soul of the Earth.

philatelist

academic envelope serves only to protect everything the story says and does not say, an inner afflatus always on the verge of being dispersed at contact with the air, the echo of a vanished knowledge revealed in the penumbra and in tacit allusions. Torn

envelope she'd let fall to her lap, standing out so glaringly white against the skirt of her black bombazine gown, might contain a letter from her deceased parents using just the sort of tender words she'd longed to hear from them

But what has been pretty good about the coronaviruses in general is they keep their structural pieces very similar. What do I mean by that? There's certain - the outer coat, the envelope, and the inside part of the virus has stayed very constant.

For Margaret Some people laugh ha-ha-ha. Other people put their hands on their mouths he-he-he. In the department stores Santa laughs ho-ho-ho. But this girl I know? okay, this girl I'm crazy for laughs like an envelope tearing open and good stuff spilling out.

Letters are expectation packaged in an envelope.

It gave me a queer feeling. Yesterday or the day before, while I had been going about my business, quietly and in private, some unknown person ? some stranger ? had gone to the trouble of marking my name on this envelope.

Yesterday or the day before, while I had been going about my business, quietly and in private, some unknown person—some stranger—had gone to the trouble of marking my name onto this envelope. Who was it who had had his mind's eye on me while I hadn't suspected a thing?

A letter. For me. That was something of an event. The crisp-cornered envelope, puffed up with its thickly folded contents, was addressed in a hand that must have given the postman a certain amount of trouble.

For most men life is a search for the proper manilla envelope in which to get themselves filed.

But underneath it there was not a sound, there was nothing that even whimpered or budged in our tunnel and it seemed Harry and me were tightly sealed inside something, like two secret letters lying next to each other in an envelope.

Peasants seldom write letters, and for my father the arrival of a letter was an important ceremony that entailed quite a ritual: the glass of wine for the postman, the close scrutiny of his name on the envelope—mistakes can happen, and you must never open a letter that isn't addressed to you—and then the blade of the knife carefully inserted to liberate whatever the fates had in store.

She looked at me for a long time and then pulled an old envelope out of the trash and drew a pear on it. "This is how your body is shaped. See? Teeny tiny on top and not so tiny on the bottom." Then she explained the illusion created by wearing dark colors on the bottom and bright colors on top. When I see other women with this color combination I check to see if they're a pear too and they always are—two pears can't fool each other.

The envelope he was carrying was dated January 15, 1965, a Saturday—and it had snowed then too.