Mail Man Quotes & Sayings

A really honest man will neither take nor covet his neighbor's good, indeed it may be said that he cannot steal; yet he is capable of stealing should be so elect. His honesty is an armor against temptation; but the coat of mail, the helmet, the breastplate, and the greaves, are but an outward covering; the man within may be vulnerable if he can be reached. - ch. 10 of Jesus the Christ — James Talmage

She reached out and touched the bright colors of the cashmere scarf, her face filled with wonder as much as shock. "This ... this is Ibrahim's scarf ... it's a family heirloom ... "
"No, it belongs to this mobster guy named Abe ...
[ ... ]
"Mom," I said disbelievingly. "You know Abe."
"Yes, Rose. I know him."
"Please don't tell me ... "
Oh, man. Why couldn't I have been an illegitimate half-royal like Robert Doru? Or even the mail-man's daughter?
"Please don't tell me Abe is my father ... "
She didn't have to tell me. It was all over her face.
"Oh God, " I said. "I'm Zmey's daughter. Zmey Junior. Zmeyette, even."
That got her attention. She looked up at me. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"Nothing," I said. — Richelle Mead

A ring-whorled prow rode in the harbour,
ice-clad, outbound, a craft for a prince.
They stretched their beloved lord in his boat,
laid out by the mast, amidships,
the great ring-giver. Far fetched treasures
were piled upon him, and precious gear.
I have never heard before of a ship so well furbished
with battle tackle, bladed weapons
and coats of mail. The massed treasure
was loaded on top of him: it would travel far
on out into the ocean's sway.
They decked his body no less bountifully
with offerings than those first ones did
who cast him away when he was a child
and launched him alone over the waves.
And they set a gold standard up
high above his head and let him drift
to wind and tide, bewailing him
and mourning their loss. No man can tell,
no wise man in hall or weathered veteran
knows for certain who salvaged that load. — Seamus Heaney

Life goes on. E-mail stops for no man — Michael Scott

Ever the man of his word, DPR wired the remaining $40,000 balance to the killer and even sent a thank-you note for the hit, lamenting in an encrypted e-mail, "I'm pissed I had to kill him . . . but what is done is done . . . I just can't believe he was so stupid . . . I just wish more people had some integrity." Yes, the founder of Silk Road, the world's largest illicit marketplace, the man who had just ordered a hit on his own employee, was disturbed by the lack of integrity in this world. — Marc Goodman

Therefore, even if you write a letter for a blind man or you must go and sit and listen, or you take the mail for him, or you visit somebody or bring a flower to somebody ... it is never too small, for this is our love of Christ in action — Mother Teresa

The men with leather or mail mostly possessed helmets and had proper weapons, swords or spears, while the rest were armed with axes, adzes, sickles, or sharpened hoes. Eadred grandly called it the Army of the Holy Man, but if I had been the holy man I would have bolted back to heaven and waited for something better to come along. — Bernard Cornwell

As anyone who's ever been to a doctor knows, doctors are not necessarily your friends, any more than mail deliverers are you friends, or butchers are you friends, or refrigerator repair-people are you friends. A doctor is a man or woman whose job it is to make you feel better, that's all, and if you've ever had a shot you know that the statement 'Doctors can't hurt you' is simply absurd. — Lemony Snicket

Love's a funny thing, especially with a man who gets paid to put junk in other people's slots. (The Mail Man) — Andrew Sturm

It is essential of the happy life that a man would have almost no mail. — C.S. Lewis

A young man - we can sketch his portrait at a dash. Imagine to yourself a Don Quixote of eighteen; a Don Quixote without his corselet, without his coat of mail, without his cuisses; a Don Quixote clothed in a woolen doublet, the blue color of which had faded into a nameless shade between lees of wine and a heavenly azure; face long and brown; — Alexandre Dumas

My banner was behind me and that banner would attract ambitious men. They wanted my skull as a drinking cup, my name as a trophy. They watched me as I watched them and they saw a man covered in mud, but a warlord with a wolf-crested helmet and arm rings of gold and with close-linked mail and a cloak of darkest blue hemmed with golden threads and a sword that was famous throughout Britain. Serpent-Breath was famous, but I sheathed her anyway, because a long blade is no help in the shield wall's embrace, and instead I drew Wasp-Sting, short and lethal. I kissed her blade then bellowed my challenge at the winter wind.
"Come and kill me! Come and kill me!"
And they came. — Bernard Cornwell

Renly thought she was absurd. A woman dressed in man's mail, pretending to be a knight." "If he'd ever seen her in pink satin and Myrish lace, he would not have complained. — George R R Martin

And so he lied because he can't speak the truth. His tongue is bent. He breaks oaths, my lady, and he swears black is white and white is black, and men believe him because he has honey on his bent tongue. But I know him, my lady, because he's my man, he's sworn to me." And with that I leaned down from the saddle and took hold of Haesten's mail coat, shirt, and cloak, and hauled him up. He — Bernard Cornwell

I have an amazing social-media wing man who manages my Facebook fan site. All my blogs get copied there. My e-mail in-box exploded, and I don't have that kind of time. My mom and sister have their whole life on Facebook, and I'm not there. — Jason Mraz

How can a man slap his wife 'in the name of Jesus'? You instructed him to do so! You think I didn't see your e-mail to him a week ago? 'Break her with your hands, then soften her with flowers. — Nnedi Okorafor

I had unlaced my cheek-pieces, let them see the blood on my face, see the blood on my mail, the blood on my hands. I was a man of gold and of blood. I was a lord of war and I was filled with the rage of battle. The enemy were ten paces away and I walked five of those paces so that I stood alone, facing them. "This," I snarled at them, "is my rock. — Bernard Cornwell

Todd's wife was one of those women with a forced smile perpetually cemented on her face. Even after being chased by a mob of homicidal maniacs and attempting to barricade doors with barstools she kept up appearances, practicing for the days when her husband would be running for public office. When she saw her son poking at their former mail carrier's dead body a look of utter horror came across her face for the slightest instant. She caught herself and put that smile back on so quickly Will wondered if she might have pulled a few cheek muscles.
"Trevor!" she hissed through clenched teeth. "Trevor, you get away from that this instant! You don't know what kind of diseases that man had. Children shouldn't play with dead things."
Will looked at Todd and smirked. "Cute kid. How many of those things do you think are out there? — Ian McClellan

Far from being this big, booming voice, the Daily Mail is just a little man behind a curtain. — Steve Coogan

One girl raved about a nice voicemail a guy had recently left her. I kindly requested she play it and heard this gem: 'Hey, Lydia. It's Sam. Just calling to say what's up. Gimme a ring when you get a chance.'

THAT WAS IT.

I pleaded to know what was so great about this. She sweetly recalled that 'he remembered my name, he said hi, and he told me to call him back.'

Never mind the fact that what she described was the content of LITERALLY EVERY VOICE MAIL IN HISTORY. Name, hello, please call back. Not really a boatload of charm on display. To fail this test, a guy would have to leave a message that said: 'No greeting. This is man. I don't remember you. End communication. — Aziz Ansari

Look at this, Grace," Peg's e-mail said. "He's entrancing those people. I just realized. Taking them out of themselves. Ty is sort of like a medicine man. A shaman.
P.S. Have you called him? — Shelle Sumners

(First lines) Now a traveler must make his way to Noon City by the best means he can, for there are no trains or buses headed in that direction, though six days a week a truck from the Chuberry Turpentine Company collects mail and supplies at the nextdoor town of Paradise Chapel; occasionally a person bound for Noon City can catch a ride with the driver of the truck, Sam Ratcliffe. It's a rough trip no matter how you come, for these washboard roads will loosen up even brandnew cars pretty fast, and hitchhikers always find the going bad. Also, this is lonesome country, and here in the sunken marshes where tiger lilies bloom the size of a man's head there are luminous green logs that shine under the dark water like drowned corpses. Often the only movement on the landscape is a broken spiral of smoke from a sorry-looking farmhouse on the horizon, or a wing-stiffened bird, silent and arrow-eyed, circling endlessly over the bleak deserted pinewoods. — Truman Capote

I stood on the dead horse and spread my arms. I held the shield high to my left and the sword to my right, and my mail coat was spattered with blood and the snow fell about my wolf-crested helmet and all I knew was the young man's joy of slaughter. "I killed Ubba Lothbrokson!" I shouted at them. "I killed him! So come and join him! Taste his death! My sword wants you! — Bernard Cornwell

Now, I am about to be nailed as the man who disliked 'Howl's Moving Castle.' Lord, give me strength! Also, IT, please disconnect the e-mail thing. — Stephen Hunter

Not long after he moved, the mail carrier got embroiled in a battle with the Middletown government over the flock of chickens that he kept in his yard. He treated them just as Mamaw had treated her chickens back in the holler: Every morning he collected all the eggs, and when his chicken population grew too large, he'd take a few of the old ones, wring their necks, and carve them up for meat right in his backyard. You can just imagine a well-bred housewife watching out the window in horror as her Kentucky-born neighbor slaughtered squawking chickens just a few feet away. My sister and I still call the old mail carrier "the chicken man," and years later even a mention of how the city government ganged up on the chicken man could inspire Mamaw's trademark vitriol: "Fucking zoning laws. They can kiss my ruby-red asshole." The — J.D. Vance

Even the blackest of them all, the crow, Renders good service as your man-at-arms, Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail. And crying havoc on the slug and snail. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The newspaper is a Bible which we read every morning and every afternoon, standing and sitting, riding and walking. It is a Biblewhich every man carries in his pocket, which lies on every table and counter, and which the mail, and thousands of missionaries, are continually dispersing. It is, in short, the only book which America has printed, and which America reads. So wide is its influence. — Henry David Thoreau

In 'The Secret Agent,' it's basically a character that was admired by Theodore Kaczynski, which is some fan mail you don't really want to open. This is a man who is a chemist and who specializes in making bombs and despises humanity. — Robin Williams

I drink every night. But I don't hang out and party. Not that I'm selling out Madison Square Garden, but in the old days after a show you could hang out with a few people. But now you're hanging around with 20 people, all of whom don't know each other, and they're all, "Leave my outgoing greeting on my voice mail, man, come on!" — Doug Stanhope

Even through her coat, he could feel the curve of her arm, making him aware of their differences.
Man and woman.
Hard and soft. — Debra Holland

About Nick:
Trudy thanked him, he gave a shy duck of his head and almost ran out of the room.
Trudy smiled after him, liking his blue-green eyes, the brown hair that waved to his shoulders and the slightly crooked, lightly freckled nose. In a few years with more confidence on him, that young man is going to be a lady killer. — Debra Holland

I walked him to the door. "Is there anything else you want me to do? Check your mail? Water your plants?"
"My mail is being forwarded to my lawyer. And I'm watering my own plants."
"So, you feel safe in the Batcave?" The corners of his mouth curved into the hint of a smile. He leaned forward and kissed me at the base of my neck, just above my T-shirt collar.
"Sweet dreams." Before he left, he said good-night to Grandma, who was still in the kitchen.
"What a nice, polite young man," Grandma said. "And he's got an excellent package."
I went straight to her closet, found the bottle of booze, and dumped some into my cocoa. — Janet Evanovich

An English man-at-arms had his helmet split open and his skull with it, so that he rode wavering from the fight, blood pouring down his mail coat. His horse stopped a few paces from the turmoil and the man-at-arms slowly, so slowly, bent forward and then slumped down from his saddle. One foot was trapped in a stirrup as he died but his horse did not seem to notice. It just went on cropping the grass. — Bernard Cornwell

I FEEL THE MOST ALIVE WHEN I'M SINGING. I ALSO GET TO BE THE MAIL MAN FOR SOME OF THE MOST BEAUTIFUL LYRICS EVER WRITTEN. — Mandy Patinkin

One fella went on the internet and got lots of photos of me in Love Actually, topless and naked and stuff, printed them off, stuck them on A4 paper, laminated them and sent them to me for me to sign. I was away and asked my husband to open all my mail for me, so he got quite a shock. And another man sent me a picture of a face where the nose was a willy. — Joanna Page

Varium et mutabile! murmurs the man sagely - "A woman's privilege is to change her mind!" If the nature of his industry were such that he had to change his mind from cooking to cleaning, from cleaning to sewing, from sewing to nursing, from nursing to teaching, and so, backward, forward, crosswise and over again, from morning to night - he too would become adept in the lightning-change act. The man adopts one business and follows it. He develops special ability, on long lines, in connection with wide interests - and so grows broader and steadier. The distinction is there, but it is not a distinction of sex. This is why the man forgets to mail the letter. He is used to one consecutive train of thought and action. She, used to a varying zigzag horde of little things, can readily accommodate a few more. — Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Don't be sorry, Darlin'", he said in his best cowboy drawl, "for I'm certainly not. It's not every day a man like me gets to assist such a pretty lady. Any time you need help in or out of a wagon, you just give me a holler" he said in a teasing tone, "I'll be right there, hoping you'll fall in my arms again. — Debra Holland

The man who came with the barrow told us the mail had set him down the morning before at the Royal George, that he had inquired what inns there were along the coast, and hearing ours well spoken of, I suppose, and described as lonely, had chosen it from the others for his place of residence. And that was all we could learn of our guest. — Robert Louis Stevenson

Black mail I suppose; an honest man paying through the nose for some of the capers of his youth. Black Mail House is what I call the place with the door, in consequence. — Robert Louis Stevenson

Several weeks of summer vacation in the Thirties I spent working at $15 a week in the FORBES office ... I worked in the mail cage, where envelopes were slit and subscription payments extracted. Dad used to come pounding down the office aisle and pause long enough to ask, How much today? Inevitably the answer was inadequate-except once. That day the controller said excitedly, Mr. Forbes, the ledger shows a slight profit this month! ... My father turned to him and said, Young man, I don't give a damn what your books show. Do we have any money in the bank? — Malcolm Forbes

They'll change the face of the countryside. They get their clatter into everything," the postmaster went on. "We even feel it here. Man used to come for his mail once a week. Now he comes every day, sometimes twice a day. He just can't wait for his damn catalogue. Running around. Always running around." He was so violent in his dislike that Adam knew he hadn't bought a Ford yet. It was a kind of jealousy coming out. "I wouldn't have one around," the postmaster said, and this meant that his wife was at him to buy one. It was the women who put the pressure on. Social status was involved. — John Steinbeck

There are two things you don't do: One, you don't open an e-mail from Phil Simms in front of your kids, and, two, you don't jinx a man going for a perfect week — Jim Nantz

Trudy rolled her eyes and smacked his arm. "I declare, Seth Flanigan, the longer I know you, the more your sense of humor increases. You barely had any when we first married. Now look at how you act. Being around Frey has brought out the worse in you."
"No, I don't think it's Frey's fault." He winked at Grace. "It's what happiness does to a man." He gave Trudy a gently shove toward the doorway. "Go on with you, now. The Viking awaits his bride. — Debra Holland