Return To Sender Quotes

I want to know exactly how many pieces of myself I had to give away before I became something else entirely.

Those left behind prayed constantly for peace but prayers came back with Return to Sender stamped all over them. Only the roll call of the dead grew.

I think sometimes we gravitate toward broken people, not ’cause we want to fix them, but ’cause we want to fix ourselves. The line between selflessness and selfishness is thin and intangible. It’s imaginary. We can’t see it. People project their problems onto other people’s problems. It happens all the time. We see ourselves in each other. We can’t help it. It’s human nature.

My outsides are precise and unreliable. The illusion of self is increasingly purposeful. A sort of erasure. Inside of me, a flex. A fervor. I feel invented.

When people try to affront you, you can do two things: either accept it and ruin your day, or leave their gift unaccepted, which returns it to sender.

moons after it ended, you still snuck up to my mailbox to deliver bundles of letters- half love notes, half hate notes. when you found someone new, all your letters came back to you marked [returned to sender].- find a new partner in crime.

I think it’s pretty common to hold onto people, to bribe them with things, say, a body, in the hopes of keeping them from leaving you. I don’t think it’s uncommon to invert such behaviors, to become something unlovable, in an effort to speed up the process of the inevitable. Fighting is an instinct. So is running. Everybody knows how to destroy a good thing. It’s easy.

My body’s a battlefield. Victory’s a void filled, a memory vanquished momentarily.

The self is a smokescreen.

Stifling our emotions is like marking "return to sender" on God's good gift.

i gave myself away with hopes that i would find you. hopes that you’d accept and love me. hopes that i would be everything you were waiting for. - return to sender

On occasion, people who tried to write family members living at Site X by addressing the letters to “Oak Ridge” got those letters returned to sender with a note reading simply: “There is no such place as Oak Ridge, Tennessee.

The more we look at anything, the more we see ourselves in the thing. This is called projection. There’s an ethics to projection, an unhinged sense of honesty. Honesty is complicated. The truth is fascinatingly flexible. Lying is boundless. It knows no limits. People lie all the time. Lying is an instinct. It’s human nature. We lie to each other; we lie to ourselves. It isn’t right, but we do.

Standing in the spotlight, surrounded by all my selves, each of them naked and vulnerable before your lens, I want to be split open and reminded of shame. I know that sounds selfish, but I’m allowed to be selfish ’cause we’re talking about photography. Do you honestly believe I don’t see it for what it actually is: Exploitative? Exploitation is the nature of the beast, whatever the hell that means.

Get rid of me, I get it.

I love you. Let's get this over with.

I read an article in a women's magazine about "writing purple prose for love and money." They made it sound easy, so I started writing on an old electronic typewriter that alternated between stuck keys and high throttle. I had no clue my first letter to Harlequin came back marked "Return to Sender." Luckily, I made my first sale before I understood how long the odds were.

He told me later that he was surprised to learn that with flat surfaces the amount of radar energy returning to the sender is independent of the target’s size. A small airplane, a bomber, an aircraft carrier, all with the same shape, will have identical radar cross sections.

When you’re finally finished crying, I hope you run as fast and as far as you possibly can from me. When you land, out of breath, and I’m finally out of sight, finally out of mind, you’ll be honestly fine. All wounds will be healed. All fires will be extinguished. I’ll be a memory. Feel free to repress me.

What if I were to tell you the game’s been rigged, that I was destined to win from the very beginning? To be clear: Winning is subjective. For the record: I win by losing, by avoiding the confusion of possibility, the sheer terror of potential. To make a long story short: I win when I lose and I lose by running, by pushing you away.

Crashing through windows I thought were open doors. Apologizing for the mess. Rationalizing my behavior in metaphors you’ll simply never understand. Learning to accept defeat. Watching you walk away from me, from us, from all of this, using every door I missed. Begging, "Please don’t leave me now, I killed those boys to make you love me.

Coming to the balcony, they both rested their elbows on the railing and looked down into the main room, which was filled wall-to-wall with patrons. Evie saw the antique-gold gleam of Sebastian’s hair as he half sat on the desk in the corner, relaxed and smiling as he conversed with the crowd of men around him. His actions of ten days ago in saving Evie’s life had excited a great deal of public admiration and sympathy, especially after an article in the Times had portrayed him in a heroic light. That, and the perception that his friendship with the powerful Westcliff had renewed, were all it had taken for Sebastian to gain immediate and profound popularity. Piles of invitations arrived at the club daily, requesting the attendance of Lord and Lady St. Vincent at balls, soirees, and other social events, which they declined for reasons of mourning. There were letters as well, heavily perfumed and written by feminine hands. Evie had not ventured to open any of them, nor had she asked about the senders. The letters had accumulated in a pile in the office, remaining sealed and untouched, until Evie had finally been moved to say something to him earlier that morning. “You have a large pile of unread correspondence,” she had told him, as they had taken breakfast together in his room. “It’s occupying half the space in the office. What shall we do with all the letters?” An impish smile rose to her lips as she added. “Shall I read them to you while you rest?” His eyes narrowed. “Dispose of them. Or better yet, return them unopened.” His response had caused a thrill of satisfaction, though Evie had tried to conceal it. “I wouldn’t object if you corresponded with other women,” she said. “Most men do, with no impropriety attached—” “I don’t.” Sebastian had looked into her eyes with a long, deliberate stare, as if to make certain that she understood him completely. “Not now.

So who else?” “Who else what?” With his mouth full, he says, “Who else got letters?” “Um, that’s really private.” I shake my head at him, like Wow, how rude. “What? I’m just curious.” Peter dips another fry into my little ramekin of ketchup. Smirking, he says, “Come on, don’t be shy. You can tell me. I know I’m number one, obviously. But I want to hear who else made the cut.” He’s practically flexing, he’s so sure of himself. Fine, if he wants to know so bad, I’ll tell him. “Josh, you--” “Obviously.” “Kenny.” Peter snorts. “Kenny? Who’s he?” I prop my elbows up on the table and rest my chin on my hands. “A boy I met at church camp. He was the best swimmer of the whole boys’ side. He saved a drowning kid once. He swam out to the middle of the lake before the lifeguards even noticed anything was wrong.” “So what’d he say when he got the letter?” “Nothing. It was sent back return to sender.” “Okay, who’s next?” I take a bite of sandwich. “Lucas Krapf.” “He’s gay,” Peter says. “He’s not gay!” “Dude, quit dreaming. The kid is gay. He wore an ascot to school yesterday.” “I’m sure he was wearing it ironically. Besides, wearing an ascot doesn’t make someone gay.” I give him a look like Wow, so homophobic. “Hey, don’t give me that look,” he objects. “My favorite uncle’s gay as hell. I bet you fifty bucks that if I showed my uncle Eddie a picture of Lucas, he’d confirm it in half a second.” “Just because Lucas appreciates fashion, that doesn’t make him gay.” Peter opens his mouth to argue but I lift up a hand to quiet him. “All it means is he’s more of a city guy in the midst of all this…this boring suburbia. I bet you he ends up going to NYU or some other place in New York. He could be a TV actor. He’s got that look, you know. Svelte with fine-boned features. Very sensitive features. He looks like…like an angel.” “So what did Angel Boy say about the letter, then?” “Nothing…I’m sure because he’s a gentleman and didn’t want to embarrass me by bringing it up.” I give him a meaningful look. Unlike some people is what I’m saying with my eyes. Peter rolls his eyes. “All right, all right. Whatever, I don’t care.

The first stage is claiming the intention: “I am Word through this intention to do whatever you wish. Word I am Word,” “I am Word through this intention to do whatever I want. Word I am Word,” and then you fill in the blank. “I am Word through my desire to know myself more.” “I am Word through my intention to believe in my abilities.” “I am Word through my intention to create the perfect job.” “Word I am Word through these intentions. Word I am Word,” is how we present it. Now once this is stated, the energy moves and we go forward in consciousness and we create with the vibration. So the first stage is the intention. The next stage is acclimation to the frequency. Once you have stated an intention and it goes forth, then you have to acclimate to it. And that means to respect it and to believe it and to honor it. You cannot set out an intention to clean your apartment and then throw a bottle of garbage on the floor and sit back and expect it to be cleaned. You have to take the actions that correspond to the intentions. But that doesn’t mean blind action. It simply means staying conscious and present as your intention is set forth: “If I move as I am moved, I will then make the choices that are in honor of the intention I have created and set forward.” That is different than acting blindly; it is different than running around acting as if you don’t truly believe it’s so. But when we say acclimate, we simply mean you have set the intention and now you have to let it settle in, and honor it, and believe it, and trust that it is coming into fruition. That is part two. The third part is reception: “I am in my reception of my intentions, reaping the benefits of that which I have called forth into being. Word I am Word through this intention. Word I am Word.” Here we have just given you a hint that you can actually call forth your intention and then set the intention to receive the benefits of it as well, which will actually anchor it in more fully in vibration if you wish to do it this way. But you can also just trust in faith, in cosmic truth, that when you set out an intention in light it is returned to the sender in fullness. Prayer is a form of intention; however, there is a difference between begging for something and stating your own worth as the receiver of an answered prayer. However, in order to do this fully you have to believe you are supported in prayer, or in your intention, or whichever way you want to describe this process for yourself given your history and your vocabulary. If you believe that there is a God who is saying no all the time, that will be your experience.

Step 1: The sender places the present in the briefcase, which they lock with their padlock and remove their key. They then send the locked briefcase to the receiver. Note: While the briefcase is en route from sender to receiver, it is safe from all adversaries, because they cannot remove the padlock from the briefcase. However, the receiver is also unable to obtain the present. Step 2: The receiver locks the briefcase with their own padlock and removes the key. They then return it to the sender. Note: The briefcase is now locked with two padlocks so no one can get the present. Step 3: The sender uses their own key to remove their padlock from the briefcase and returns the briefcase to the receiver. Note: The only lock on the briefcase belongs to the receiver. Step 4: The receiver removes their padlock from the briefcase to obtain the present.

Become a junk mail detective. • Commercial catalogs: Go to CatalogChoice.org (they cancel catalogs for you) or call the catalogs directly. I opted out and I have never been happier with my personal sense of decorating and celebrating. • First-class mail: Do not open the unwanted letter. Its postage includes return service; you can write “Refused—Return to sender” and “Take me off your mailing list” on the front of the unopened envelope. I keep a pen in my mailbox for that specific purpose. • Mail addressed to the previous resident: Fill out a U.S. Postal Service change-of-address card for each previous resident. In lieu of a new address, write: “Moved, no forwarding address.” In the signature area, sign your name and write “Form filled by current resident of home [your name], agent for the above.” Hand the form to your carrier or postal clerk. • For standard/ third-class presorted mail: Do not open those that mention “return service requested,” “forwarding service requested,” “change service requested,” or “address service requested.” These postages also include return service, so here, too, you can write “Refused—Return to sender” and “Take me off your mailing list” on the front of an unopened envelope. Otherwise, open the letter, look for contact info, then call/ email/ write to be taken off the mailing list. These items typically include promotional flyers, brochures, and coupon packs. Make sure to also request that your name or address not be sold, rented, shared, or traded. • Bulk mail: Inexpensive bulk mailing, used for items such as community education catalogs, allows advertisers to mail to all homes in a carrier route. It is not directly addressed to a specific name or address but to “local” or “postal customer,” and is therefore most difficult to stop. A postal supervisor told me that my carrier had to deliver them and that he could take them back when refused, but since the postage does not include return service, the mailman would simply throw the mail away with no further action. The best way to reduce the production of such mailings is to contact the senders directly and convince them to either choose a different type of postage or adopt Internet communication instead. In the case of community-born mailing, one could also persuade his/ her city council to boycott the postage preference. But ideally, the U.S. Postal Service would not even provide this wasteful option.

after you tried to kill me?” “So what? Now I have to live downstairs in the servants’ quarters? Give me a break.” “No, I thought that was too good for you. Since you’re really nothing but trailer trash without the trailer, I had Rosa rent one in Newark. All your things are being transported there as we speak. I hope you don’t mind. Nora wanted to pack them in suitcases, but I told her to keep your Louis Vuitton for herself and use some of those dark green

As unaddressed and unnamed letter and message return to the sender; similarly, unclear love executes nothing.

The sedatives had done their work and she’d gone away and now she was coming home again. Exactly as if she’d been put in an envelope and posted abroad, then returned to sender

I think it’s imperative that we continue confusing light with meaning. That’s how the human race evolves. Someone sees a light, names it God, goes toward it, goes up in flames. Same goes for moths. We’re all animals. There’s nothing revolutionary about evolution. The process itself relies solely on stupidity. We fuck up in the hopes that future fuckups will learn from us.

I’ll see my nakedness as an advantage, attempt use my body as leverage. That will work for a little while.

I’ll be too drunk to fight when you ask why I prefer to hurt, so I’ll start hurling stupid phrases like I love you at your naked chest, but no matter what I try, they’ll all sound like cheap threats.

Repression is dangerous. It makes anvils of memories and drops them from impossible heights when you least expect it.

Do you think dogs enjoy fucking? Or is it something so primal, so intrinsically necessary that it just happens, just occurs? Do you think animals can fall in love? I let you fuck me from behind almost every single night, always wanting to be kissed, but still, I refuse to roll over.

I’ve always wanted to be the sort of boy who does the right thing without having to think about it first, the kind of boy who makes his bed every morning and wears his mouth like a vase for words of kindness and simplicity. My agents keep telling me I’m too bruised to play the part. They have no idea how hard it is to make my bed when I’m constantly sleeping in yours, how difficult it is to keep my body from bruising when I’m almost always on my knees, making room in my vase for you, and watching while you text all the boys who are up for the role.

Fucking fixes nothing, but certain feelings are unavoidable.

Beauty is biased, brainless. It says little to nothing about anybody as far as ethics are concerned, so why not monetize it? Give it some value, pin it with a price point. Otherwise, it’s worthless.

The last, and I mean the last time, I tried to return myself to sender was a year ago this June. After five months so sick I was certain my stomach would never know a butterfly again,

When are you going to accept that you’re stuck with me? You waged the dumbest, most persistent war of attrition against my heart. You fucking won. This is your prize now, Chase: my undivided attention. You are my whole fucking world. You are my heart. My fucking obsession. There’s no walking away from it. No return to fucking sender. You made me love you. Now deal with the fucking consequences.

When you’re on vacation, avoid the dreaded email pileup upon your return by creating a new email account along the lines of “[Your Name]_Important.” Then set an auto-responder that says not just that you are on vacation and won’t be checking email, but that you won’t be reading the email that accumulates while you’re away. Give the name of someone to contact if people need immediate help, and say that if people really want to talk to you upon your return, they should resend the message to the aforementioned “important” email address, and that you will respond when you’re back. You will be amazed by how few people actually take you up on this. (This is inspired by a German company, Daimler, which automatically deletes employees’ incoming emails while they’re on vacation and tells senders whom to contact if they need immediate help.)

Return the sender, Elvis sang, just like Cliff Richard.

f the universe slid a dream into your heart, it wasn't just casually tossing it your way—it's more like a cosmic FedEx delivery, complete with a big, bold 'This Way to Your Destiny' sticker. So, unwrap that dream like it's the best gift you've ever received, & get to work bringing it to life. Trust in the divine that brought it to you, & remember: when the universe delivers, it's never with a 'return to sender' option. So, rock that dream, because in the universe's grand plan, it totally is!

Sure you don’t want a drink? I’ve got Jack Daniel’s, which you can’t get anyplace else in this country, believe me.

The suggestion made in Shine that there was a total breakdown in communication is preposterous; they wrote to each other regularly. David also wrote to my mother and to all his siblings—and we all wrote back. David’s letters were never sent back unopened by my father marked “Return to Sender,” as is shown in the film. Nor did my father burn his collection of press clippings about David. David himself now has the originals—I borrowed them and made photocopies in the 1980s.

I assemble monsters with my mind. I build them of broken glass, and forgotten words, and knotted yarn, I forget as they gobble up my memories, and I crawl as they pull upon my strings, but even when I write that they’ve trapped me in a tiny box wrapped with twisted burgundy bows addressed to return-to-sender, and I dream of wanting to dream...

A relationship is just about showing up,” he says. “It’s all you can really do. Show up. Say things. Hang in there. Do your best.

...the Pony Express — ye olde way of delivering parcels before Amazon existed.

The secret to getting people to tell you things is that you repeat their last few words. There’s nothing more stimulating to people than their own words.

It was an awful punishment because there’s nothing more repugnant to the human soul than wasted labor, squandered time. Time is one’s most precious resource.

Hedgehogs really are unpleasant, stupid creatures. With that ridiculous fur, not that you could call it fur. What was it she loved about them? Their optimism? They have quills, for heaven's sake, always at the ready, prepared at any moment to pick people. Not exactly a sign of optimism.

Lying to oneself is one of the most idiotic habits. 'Just one more won't hurt.' 'Maybe this time will be different.' How gullible do you have to be 6o believe a lie that you tell yourself? Yet people do it. They do it a lot. It keeps them victims of their own ridiculous games.

Lord: We willingly receive Your rebukes to indulge our own remorse, While refusing and rejecting the affection with which you give them; Unwilling to accept that you truly love us, We are unable to extend that love to others, And so we return your love to sender, Recycling words of affection in worship Which we have not received or Believed for ourselves.

I sat there in silence before her altar for a time, then lit a stick of incense and rang the little bell as I continued penning apology letters in my head, ones I knew would only ever be returned to sender.

Oh yes, bride price.” It could only be Abi. “They’ve bought her like a chicken at market. I hope we specified no return to sender on the receipt

I am a Pagan and I dedicate myself to channeling the spiritual energy of my inner self to help and to heal myself and others. I know that I am part of the whole of nature. May I grow in understanding of the unity of all nature. May I always walk in balance. May I always be mindful of the diversity of nature, as well as it's unity and may I always be tolerant of those whose race, appearance, sex, sexual preference, culture, and other ways differ from my own. May I use the force wisely and not use it for aggression nor for malevolent purposes. May I never direct it to curtail the freewill of another. May I always be mindful that I create my own reality and the I have the power within me to create positivity in my life. May I always act in honorable ways: being honest with myself and others, keeping my word whenever I have given it, fulfilling all responsibilities and commitments I have taken on to the best of my ability. May I always remember that whatever is sent out always returns magnified to the sender. May the forces of Karma move swiftly to remind me of these spiritual commitments when I have begun to falter from them, and may use this Karmic feedback t help myself grow and be more attuned to my inner Pagan spirit. May I always remain strong and committed to my spiritual ideas in the face of adversity and negativity. May the force of my inner spirit ground out all malevolence directed my way and transform it into positivity. May my inner light shine so strongly that malevolent forces cannot even approach my sphere of existence. May I always grow in inner wisdom and understanding. May I see every problem that I face as an opportunity to develop myself spiritually in solving it. May I always act out of love to all other beings on this planet-to other humans, to plants, animals, minerals, elementals, spirits and other entities. May I always be mindful that the Goddess and God in all their forms dwell within me and that Divinity is reflected through my own inner self, my pagan spirit. May I always channel love and light from my being. May my inner spirit, rather than my ego self, guide all my thoughts, feelings and actions. ...So mote it be.

By this act And words of rhyme Trouble not These books of mine With these words I now thee render Candle burn and bad return 3 times stronger to its sender.

His eyes drifted back up to the top of the letter. On one side was the name and address of the recipient, William Dredger of Chesterfield in Derbyshire. On the other was the sender’s return address in Jaipur.

Messed up doesn’t matter to the heart.

Look, you get to hold conflicting feelings,” I say. “You get to want to save her and want it to be over with. You get to want her to live and want her to stop suffering, even when she wants to keep on suffering. You get to be messy.

The universe is prodigal in its support. We are miserly in what we accept. All gift horses are looked in the mouth and usually returned to sender. We say we are scared by failure, but what frightens us more is the possibility of success.

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