What does this mean 'mailer daemon'? Satan, are you messing with the e-mail system already?
For 60 years, Social Security has meant more than an ID number on a tax form; more than a monthly check in the mail. It reflects our deepest values - our respect for our parents and our belief that all Americans deserve to retire with dignity.
I'm always afraid that I'm being unprofessional, yet I continue to sign all my e-mails 'xoxo.'
But music is reflection of self, we just explain it, and then we get our checks in the mail.
In the clearness of this Himalayan air, mountains draw near, and in such splendor, tears come quietly to my eyes and cool on my sunburned cheeks. this is not mere soft-mindedness, nor am I all that silly with the altitude. My head has cleared in these weeks free of intrusions- mail, telephones, people and their needs- and I respond to things spontaneously, without defensive or self-conscious screens. Still, all this feeling is astonishing: not so long ago I could say truthfully that I had not shed a tear in twenty years.
It is that the Mail constantly dares to stand up to the liberal-left consensus that dominates so many areas of British life and instead represents the views of the ordinary people who are our readers and who don't have a voice in today's political landscape and are too often ignored by today's ruling elite.
CBS started to confiscate our packages and mail as a safety procedure. A lot of packages that people send for the holidays and to our kids we can't open. A lot of times they are from overseas. It's very upsetting at times.
Progress celebrates victories over nature. Progress makes purses out of human skin. When people were traveling in mail coaches, the world got ahead better than it does now that salesmen fly through the air. What good is speed if the brain has oozed out on the way? How will the heirs of this age be taught the most basic motions that are necessary to activate the most complicated machines? Nature can rely on progress; it will avenge it for the outrage it has perpetrated on it.
I won't ever do e-mail.
Obviously, computers have made differences. They have fostered the development of spaceships- as well as a great increase in junk mail.
Because Washington state now votes by mail, elections here tend to play out, at an agonizingly slow speed, over many days and, sometimes, weeks.
When you start thinking about taking pictures, sending an e-mail, receiving an e-mail, speaking into your phone and have it transcript voice into text and then sent as an e-mail, it's mind-boggling.
I have too many friends who tell me that they spend the first hour of every morning going through their e-mail messages. I'd like to use my time more carefully.
I think e-mail is representative of our fast food mentality in the United States, where everything has gotten faster and faster, and we're required to respond to inputs more quickly with less time for thought and reflection. I believe that we need to slow down.
Frog said, 'I wrote 'Dear Toad, I am glad that you are my best friend. Your best friend, Frog.' 'Oh,' said Toad, 'that makes a very good letter.'Then Frog and Toad went out onto the front porch to wait for the mail. They sat there, feeling happy together.
The mail service has been excellent out here, and in my opinion this is all that the Air Force has accomplished during the war.
I usually doze off between 7:30 and 9 p.m. while putting my baby to sleep. Then I suddenly wake up remembering I'm an adult with no bedtime. I spend the next four hours catching up on reading, e-mails, and other adult pursuits until I collapse for good until sunrise.
Anyone buying this book is going to be out a tidy sum if he is sucked in by the title. I wish I could write a real sexy book that would be barred from the mails. Apparently nothing whets a reader's appetite for literature more than the news that the author has been thrown into a federal pokey for disturbing the libido of millions of Americans.
Software companies should take more responsibility for security holes, especially in browsers and e-mail clients. There are some straightforward things the industry should be doing right now to fix things, and I don't know why they haven't been done yet.
I get e-mails from mothers asking me to call their daughters for a date. I have a great life.
The characters are so flat and the dialogue so dull you expect it to be one of those movies whose existence is justified by a big final twist. But it's three days after the screening, and still no twist. Maybe it's coming in the mail?
I already shred all my mail. What am I supposed to do now? Use pay phones? Smoke signals? Train pigeons? There's no such thing as privacy anymore.
In contemporary society, advertising is everywhere. We cannot walk down the street, shop, watch television, go through our mail, log on to the Internet, read a newspaper or take a train without encountering it. Whether we are alone, with our friends or family, or in a crowd, advertising is always with us, if only on the label of something we are using.
One night when my longing for her was like a fire burning out of control in my heart and my head, I wrote her a letter that just seemed to go on and on. I poured out my whole heart in it, never looking back to see what I'd said because I was afraid cowardice would make me stop. I didn't stop, and when a voice in my head clamored that it would be madness to mail such a letter, that I would be giving her my naked heart to hold in her hand, I ignored it with a child's breathless disregard of the consequences.
When someone you love dies, you don't lose them all at once. You lose them in pieces over time, like how the mail stops coming.
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