And My Letters Never Sent You

Living in the country, preferring solitude, we entertain few visitors and never go to dinner parties; but gregariousness withered in the flesh blooms in the post: thus my five thousand annual pieces of mail. — Life Work • Donald Hall

What I find is that I continually want to write to people, but hate it when I come to do it. It is so difficult to say what you mean, & one knows how different from what you meant it & from what it would be in conversation, it will all sound. — from Leonard Woolf’s April 30th 1905 letter to G.E. Moore