I didn't expect to open my mailbox one summer morning and find an old letter stuffed between bills and a supermarket flyer. Penned in familiar handwriting, dated over fifteen years ago, the letter was written to me after my first date with the man I'll never forget. Week after week, new letters appear. Each marks an event in the history of our epic love affair. Each heals a wound. Each holds the confession from the one who still owns my heart. The letters are full of promise, hope and love, but truth be told, I wish I could unread them all. Because the man who wrote these letters is not the one sending them.

When John Millington Synge and Molly Allgood fell in love, he was thirty-five, she nineteen. Neither knew that he had Hodgkin's disease, of which he was to die in three years. Synge had already achieved recognition as a playwright--translations of two of his plays had been performed in Berlin and Prague--and he was codirector, with Yeats and Lady Gregory, of the Irish National Theatre Society. Molly had started her acting career the year before, in the newly opened Abbey Theatre, with a walk-on part in Synge's Well of the Saints. She had been promoted from crowd scenes to bit parts to lead roles in Riders to the Sea and The Shadow of the Glen. She was still only a member of the company, however, while Synge was a director, whose codirectors disapproved of fraternization. Synge and Molly also faced the disapproval of two widowed mothers. Barring an occasional holiday trip or company road tour, they could seldom be alone together, except on secret afternoon meetings for long walks in the country. Hence their hundreds of letters. Molly's letters do not survive; they apparently were destroyed when Synge died. But his letters convey her mercurial charm, her openness, her love of life, her impulsiveness, and her temper--as violent as his own. What they convey of him (when he is not reproving her or remonstrating with her, as he does in the early months of their relationship) is the love of nature, the poetic language, the bittersweet irony, the elemental quality of emotion, that we know from the plays. His concern for his craft is seen as he struggles with The Playboy. ("Parts of it are not structurally strong or good. I have been all this time trying to get over weak situations by strong writing, but now I find it won't do, and I am at my wit's end.") Synge was quite unperturbed by the violent outrage and near-riots the play provoked. ("Now we'll be talked about. We're an event in the history of the Irish stage," he wrote cheerily.) As his illness progresses, following operations in 1907 and 1908, there is great poignancy in the gradual abating of references to marriage plans and in the shift of salutation from "Dearest Changeling" to "My dearest child." After Synge's death his friends and biographers discreetly avoided mention of Molly, who under her stage name of Maire O'Neill became one of the leading actresses of the Irish theater and lived until 1952. His letters to her have not been published before, except for the few quoted in Greene and Stephens' 1959 biography. A primary source for the study of Synge and the Irish theater movement, the letters include poems inspired by Molly and extensive information about Abbey Theatre business. In addition to a biographical introduction, Ann Saddlemyer has included a map of the Wicklow and Dublin areas and numerous photographs of both Synge and Molly.

Recovering from a long illness, Boston businessman Carl Stanton is unable to accompany his fiancée Cornelia on a mid-winter trip to warm and sunny Jacksonville. Lonely, bored, and disappointed in Cornelia's lack of affection, Carl decides to answer an advertisement from the Serial-Letter Company, which promises real letters, delivering comfort and entertainment, from imaginary persons. Carl signs up for their love letter program, thinking he might have a bit of fun, and teach his fiancée a lesson in the process.

An excerpt from the book:"I couldn't believe we were having another girl. Already having a son and a daughter, I thought a third child would finally make our family complete. Or so I thought."LETTERS TO SIENA is the true story of one woman's journey through the loss of her baby and the rediscovery of herself. Follow the author as she learns through her own writing and experiences, the true meaning of life, and the importance of family.

Writing in her native “Texlish,” Molly Ivins planted herself squarely in the tradition of plain-spoken and earthy American humor, the big river that runs from Mark Twain straight through to Will Rogers, Ring Lardner and George Carlin. Between 1982 and 2007, Ivins contributed seventeen consistently sharp and funny articles to The Nation, starting with what might be described as her “Letters From Texas,” in which she discussed political developments in the Lone Star State, whose zany politics were full of exotic people dubbed “The Gibber,” “The Breck Girl” and “Governor Goodhair.” Despite their humor, however, Ivins’s pieces always delivered trenchant political commentary. And she could also write highly accomplished and fascinating cultural essays and book reviews (such as “Ezra Pound in East Texas,” included in this eBook).

What do you do when no one can see your monsters but you? At first, Molly runs from them. But they follow her down the sidewalk, getting in the way when she tries to make a new friend, popping up unexpectedly out of shadows, and multiplying. Until finally...Molly faces her fears. Author-illustrator Brooke Boynton-Hughes delivers a modern classic in this moving adventure that honors everyday acts of bravery and the power of friendship to banish the monsters that haunt us.

In this middle-grade girl-power friendship story, perfect for fans of Moxie, an eighth grader starts a podcast to protest the unfair dress code enforcement at her middle school and sparks a rebellion. Now available in paperback! Molly Frost is FED UP... Because Olivia was yelled at for wearing a tank top. Because Liza got dress coded and Molly didn't, even though they were wearing the exact same outfit. Because when Jessica was pulled over by the principal and missed a math quiz, her teacher gave her an F. Because it's impossible to find shorts that are longer than her fingertips. Because girls' bodies are not a distraction. Because middle school is hard enough. And so Molly starts a podcast where girls can tell their stories, and before long, her small rebellion swells into a revolution. Because now the girls are standing up for what's right, and they're not backing down.