Before she left, she took a piece of note paper and wrote a short note:
And then wrote it up in code?
She ripped off a piece of sketch paper and wrote down her address.
She changed the decorating tip and wrote "Happy Birthday Dad!" on the top of the cake.
I already wrote up an inventory.
If you were a scientist in Salk's time, you did calculations by hand and wrote observations in notebooks.
In a letter dated April 10, 1887, only five weeks after she went to Helen Keller, she wrote to a friend:
Soon after Prince Andrew had gone, Princess Mary wrote to her friend Julie Karagina in Petersburg, whom she had dreamed (as all girls dream) of marrying to her brother, and who was at that time in mourning for her own brother, killed in Turkey.
Grandfather Ed Plotke learned Josh worked for Paul Dawkins and he wrote to Paul in California.
She wrote a cover story about how the police force is sitting around on their thumbs while the poor widow's little twin darlings remain missing.
According to Yang Jisheng, who wrote the definitive book on The Great Famine, In Xinyang, people starved at the doors of the grain warehouses.
That lady who's in the news, the one from Idaho who claims she's the tipster, she wrote an entry.
I have letters from Josh Mulligan—letters he wrote my mom.
Her eyes went to the number she wrote on her hand each morning.
"She wrote in a code," Dean answered.
In her room that night, she wrote a letter to Connie explaining what she had observed.
Carefully, Selyn wrote out something then passed it to Deidre.
Then a little bit ago he wrote something on a little tablet and I looked at it.
"One of the immortals wrote a book about caring for humans," Gabriel said with some reticence.
Katie moved quickly in the direction she indicated and found a line in front of the guestbook as Immortals wrote their names.
Alex wrote a check, pocketed the bill of sale and title, and then they all walked out of the office.
"Well, I know what that is," he said to himself; and he wrote the word _turnip_ on his slate.
I received the letter which you wrote to me last summer, and I thank you for it.
She grabbed the note pad and wrote a brand name and quantity.
Fred wrote the number on his note pad.
To speak critically, I never received more than one or two letters in my life--I wrote this some years ago--that were worth the postage.
Her attention lingered on it for a moment before she wrote one more.
Some people said that they were what Henry Longfellow wrote on his slate that day at school.
She handed him the tablet and he laboriously wrote something again.
She wrote Kris a short message and folded the paper, presenting it to Gabriel.
Her eyes widened with the realization that he wrote this beautiful composition for her.
This note sounds like and looks like he was blind drunk when he wrote it and he doesn't know what the hell he's talking about.
Before they left, he wrote a note that he wanted to stop by the clinic.
If he didn't like what she wrote, he didn't have to respond.
It was their ancestor who wrote the letters I've got!
Just think, great-grand-nieces of the woman who wrote these here letters to Ouray a hundred years ago.
The letters written from Boston are answering correspondence Annie presumably wrote to her sister.
If she didn't have a place she felt was safe enough, maybe she wrote her journal in code.
As much and as often as Annie wrote, the letters and numbers must have almost become a second language to her.
Before we can read what she wrote, we can only guess the reason for it.
By the tone of the letters Rachael wrote to her, the family appeared somewhat estranged from one another.
"We can't be sure Annie Quincy wrote this," Cynthia protested.
And the woman who wrote this, whoever she is, isn't any dunce.
I sure wish this young lady wrote a date on her writings.
And that's the name she wrote on her clothes.
Then he wrote her sister Rachael in Boston affirming her lies.
That Edgar Poe guy wrote a story about the obvious being overlooked.
He showed it to me but he wrote on his pad it was yours and he just borrowed it 'cause you left it around.
She wrote it and no one forced her to do so.
He wrote "The Village Blacksmith," "The Children's Hour," and many other beautiful pieces which you will like to read and remember.
So he sat down and wrote a wonderful story, which he called "The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe."
In 1958, an American economist named Leonard Read wrote an essay called "I, Pencil," written from the pencil's point of view, about how no one on the planet knows how to make a pencil.
Jordanes, a Goth, wrote the following about the Huns in 551: They are beings who are cruel to their children on the very day they are born.
So did de Tocqueville, touring nineteenth-century America, when he wrote that "All those who seek to destroy the liberties of a democratic nation ought to know that war is the surest and shortest means to accomplish it."
Francis Fukuyama wrote a famous essay entitled "The End of History?" which became the catchphrase of the day.
Shakespeare remains so popular because he wrote about timeless human experiences: love and fear and envy, anger and revenge and jealousy, ambition and regret and guilt.
Processing aurally was familiar to Augustine while reading silently was revelatory, so noteworthy that he wrote it in his autobiography.
A little story called "The Frost King," which I wrote and sent to Mr. Anagnos, of the Perkins Institution for the Blind, was at the root of the trouble.
I have read "The Frost Fairies" since, also the letters I wrote in which I used other ideas of Miss Canby's.
In a composition which I wrote about the old cities of Greece and Italy, I borrowed my glowing descriptions, with variations, from sources I have forgotten.
The thought that what I wrote might not be absolutely my own tormented me.
I wrote timidly, fearfully, but resolutely, urged on by my teacher, who knew that if I persevered, I should find my mental foothold again and get a grip on my faculties.
The papers were difficult, and I felt very anxious as I wrote out my answers on the typewriter.
I sat down immediately and wrote to Mr. Vining, asking him to explain the signs.
Besides, I could not see what I wrote on my typewriter.
Three months and a half after the first word was spelled into her hand, she wrote in pencil this letter
Twenty-five days later, while she was on a short visit away from home, she wrote to her mother.
She wrote on the blackboard the names of all the gentlemen present.
Helen wrote letters to the newspapers which brought many generous replies.
Do you think Mrs. Spaulding would help me, if I wrote to her?
We received the Silent Worker which you sent, and I wrote right away to the editor to tell him that it was a mistake.
In a prefatory note which Miss Sullivan wrote for St. Nicholas, she says that people frequently said to her, "Helen sees more with her fingers than we do with our eyes."
I wrote to my friends about the work and enlisted their sympathy.
Why, bless you, I thought I wrote to you the day after the "Eclogues" arrived, and told you how glad I was to have them!
Now there is one more fact, which I wish to state very plainly, in regard to what Mr. Gilman wrote to you.
Miss Watkins, the lady who has charge of her wrote me a most interesting letter.
What her good friend, Charles Dudley Warner, wrote about her in Harper's Magazine in 1896 was true then, and it remains true now:
She was intensely pro-Boer and wrote a strong argument in favour of Boer independence.
In the diary that she kept at the Wright-Humason School in New York she wrote on October 18, 1894, "I find that I have four things to learn in my school life here, and indeed, in life--to think clearly without hurry or confusion, to love everybody sincerely, to act in everything with the highest motives, and to trust in dear God unhesitatingly."
When she first wrote from Tuscumbia to Mr. Michael Anagnos, Dr. Howes son-in-law and his successor as Director of the Perkins Institution, about her work with her pupil, the Boston papers began at once to publish exaggerated accounts of Helen Keller.
Of this report Miss Sullivan wrote in a letter dated October 30, 1887:
Have you seen the paper I wrote for the 'report'?
For this report Miss Sullivan wrote the fullest and largest account she has ever written; and in this report appeared the "Frost King," which is discussed fully in a later chapter.
So she consented to the publication of extracts from letters which she wrote during the first year of her work with her pupil.
These letters were written to Mrs. Sophia C. Hopkins, the only person to whom Miss Sullivan ever wrote freely.
The only time she had to prepare herself for the work with her pupil was from August, 1886, when Captain Keller wrote, to February, 1887.
Mr. Anagnos wrote in the report of the Perkins Institution, dated November 27, 1888: At my urgent request, Helen, accompanied by her mother and her teacher, came to the North in the last week of May, and spent several months with us as our guests....
Since I wrote you, Helen and I have gone to live all by ourselves in a little garden-house about a quarter of a mile from her home, only a short distance from Ivy Green, the Keller homestead.
As I wrote you, I meant to go slowly at first.
In a previous letter I think I wrote you that "mug" and "milk" had given Helen more trouble than all the rest.
She has often gone with me to the post-office to mail letters, and I suppose I have repeated to her things I wrote to you.
Helen's pencil-writing is excellent, as you will see from the enclosed letter, which she wrote for her own amusement.
She wrote it out of her own head, as the children say.
Helen wrote another letter to the little girls yesterday, and her father sent it to Mr. Anagnos.
This is what Helen wrote Sunday:
I wrote letter to Uncle James.
Her father wrote to her last summer that the birds and bees were eating all his grapes.
During the next two years neither Mr. Anagnos, who was in Europe for a year, nor Miss Sullivan wrote anything about Helen Keller for publication.
Early in May she wrote on her tablet the following list of questions:
If Miss Sullivan wrote fine English, the beauty of Helen Keller's style would, in part, be explicable at once.
This is shown in a little story she wrote in October last at the home of her parents in Tuscumbia, which she called "Autumn Leaves."
Helen wrote a little letter, and, enclosing the manuscript, forwarded both by mail to Mr. Anagnos for his birthday.
I am perfectly sure I wrote the story myself.
Her father, Captain Keller, wrote to me as follows on the subject:
Yes, these verses Nicholas wrote himself and I copied some others, and she found them on my table and said she'd show them to Mamma, and that I was ungrateful, and that Mamma would never allow him to marry me, but that he'll marry Julie.
Julie wrote in French:
This is the reply she wrote, also in French:
From Vienna Kutuzov wrote to his old comrade, Prince Andrew's father.
Excited and irritated by these thoughts Prince Andrew went toward his room to write to his father, to whom he wrote every day.
Bilibin's services were valued not only for what he wrote, but also for his skill in dealing and conversing with those in the highest spheres.
As soon as Bonaparte (who was at Schonbrunn, sixteen miles from Hollabrunn) received Murat's dispatch with the proposal of a truce and a capitulation, he detected a ruse and wrote the following letter to Murat:
"Your son," wrote Kutuzov, "fell before my eyes, a standard in his hand and at the head of a regiment--he fell as a hero, worthy of his father and his fatherland.
He wrote "800 rubles" on a card, but while the waiter filled his glass he changed his mind and altered it to his usual stake of twenty rubles.
Rostov submissively unbent the corner of his card and, instead of the six thousand he had intended, carefully wrote twenty-one.
Hand this to Count Willarski (he took out his notebook and wrote a few words on a large sheet of paper folded in four).
"Since the day of our brilliant success at Austerlitz," wrote Bilibin, "as you know, my dear prince, I never leave headquarters.
"The auditor wrote out a petition for you," continued Tushin, "and you ought to sign it and ask this gentleman to take it.
That is what I decided, and what I wrote to Joseph Alexeevich.
Pierre went on with his diary, and this is what he wrote in it during that time:
That day I received a letter from my benefactor in which he wrote about "conjugal duties."
He, as I wrote you before, has changed very much of late.
He wrote that he had never loved as he did now and that only now did he understand and know what life was.
"Besides," he wrote, "the matter was not then so definitely settled as it is now.
She wrote to Prince Andrew about the reception of his letter, but comforted him with hopes of reconciling their father to the idea.
She wrote that if he did not come and take matters in hand, their whole property would be sold by auction and they would all have to go begging.
She wrote to him formal, monotonous, and dry letters, to which she attached no importance herself, and in the rough copies of which the countess corrected her mistakes in spelling.
Boris sketched two trees in the album and wrote: "Rustic trees, your dark branches shed gloom and melancholy upon me."
In reply Boris wrote these lines:
Princess Mary wrote that she was in despair at the misunderstanding that had occurred between them.
"Do not think, however," she wrote, "that my father is ill-disposed toward you.
"Dear Princess," she wrote in French quickly and mechanically, and then paused.
Just at the time Prince Andrew was living unoccupied at Drissa, Shishkov, the Secretary of State and one of the chief representatives of this party, wrote a letter to the Emperor which Arakcheev and Balashev agreed to sign.
On receiving this letter, Nicholas did not even make any attempt to get leave of absence or to retire from the army, but wrote to his parents that he was sorry Natasha was ill and her engagement broken off, and that he would do all he could to meet their wishes.
To Sonya he wrote separately.
He wrote the words L'Empereur Alexandre, La nation russe and added up their numbers, but the sums were either more or less than 666.
Once when making such calculations he wrote down his own name in French, Comte Pierre Besouhoff, but the sum of the numbers did not come right.
So he wrote Le russe Besuhof and adding up the numbers got 671.
He wrote to Arakcheev, the Emperor's confidant: It must be as my sovereign pleases, but I cannot work with the Minister (meaning Barclay).
Dessalles wrote this letter to the Governor for Princess Mary, she signed it, and it was given to Alpatych with instructions to hand it to the Governor and to come back as quickly as possible if there was danger.
He wrote to his sister:
On the seventh of August Prince Bagration wrote as follows from his quarters at Mikhaylovna on the Smolensk road:
I, for my part, begged him personally most urgently and finally wrote him, but nothing would induce him to consent.
He ordered the militiamen to be called up from the villages and armed, and wrote a letter to the commander-in- chief informing him that he had resolved to remain at Bald Hills to the last extremity and to defend it, leaving to the commander-in-chief's discretion to take measures or not for the defense of Bald Hills, where one of Russia's oldest generals would be captured or killed, and he announced to his household that he would remain at Bald Hills.
"That's not he himself, that's the father of the fellow who wrote the proclamation," said the adjutant.
'From whom did you get the proclamation?' 'I wrote it myself.'
Kutuzov wrote that the Russians had not retreated a step, that the French losses were much heavier than ours, and that he was writing in haste from the field of battle before collecting full information.
"He wrote here that he took a great liking to you," he went on simply and calmly, evidently unable to understand all the complex significance his words had for living people.
Napoleon, with his usual assurance that whatever entered his head was right, wrote to Kutuzov the first words that occurred to him, though they were meaningless.
"The Grand Marshal of the palace," wrote the governor, "complains bitterly that in spite of repeated orders, the soldiers continue to commit nuisances in all the courtyards and even under the very windows of the Emperor."
To such customary routine belonged his conversations with the staff, the letters he wrote from Tarutino to Madame de Stael, the reading of novels, the distribution of awards, his correspondence with Petersburg, and so on.
Berthier wrote to his Emperor (we know how far commanding officers allow themselves to diverge from the truth in describing the condition of an army) and this is what he said:
But still he and those about him retained their old habits: wrote commands, letters, reports, and orders of the day; called one another sire, mon cousin, prince d'Eckmuhl, roi de Naples, and so on.
Toll wrote a disposition: "The first column will march to so and so," etc.
He wrote letters to his daughters and to Madame de Stael, read novels, liked the society of pretty women, jested with generals, officers, and soldiers, and never contradicted those who tried to prove anything to him.
And Count Rostopchin wrote proclamations.
He examined the bailiff's accounts of the village in Ryazan which belonged to his wife's nephew, wrote two business letters, and walked over to the granaries, cattle yards and stables before dinner.
Moreover, certain men wrote some books at that time.
To this, modern history laboriously replies either that Napoleon was a great genius, or that Louis XIV was very proud, or that certain writers wrote certain books.
The historians of culture are quite consistent in regard to their progenitors, the writers of universal histories, for if historical events may be explained by the fact that certain persons treated one another in such and such ways, why not explain them by the fact that such and such people wrote such and such books?
Martha wrote on her pad as he continued.
I know about the letter she wrote about Howie.
She wrote about some stuff she heard him say in his sleep; stuff about bad guys who stole kids.
She wrote it lots of different times and tore it up.
Jackson wrote copious notes.
He wrote letters to me and my mother all his life.
She really wrote it.
After he left, she turned the heat down and wrote a note to Jonathan.
"It was just lying there," she said, and then added, "Annie wrote it, didn't she?"
And wrote her note for her?
Who says she wrote it?
It's a suicide note she wrote 'cause she killed herself.
The boy took his small note pad from his back pocket and carefully wrote, "What happened to Annie?"
Besides, Edith had the pen in her possession so he lacked any opportunity to change it back to the color she used years earlier when she wrote the suicide note.
Upon entering, Frederick wrote two notes, one for the Exemplars, detailing Victor's location, and one for his wife.
She wrote his name for him so there ain't no signature.
I wrote the story when I was at home, the autumn after I had learned to speak.
Words and images came tripping to my finger ends, and as I thought out sentence after sentence, I wrote them on my braille slate.
Miss Canby herself wrote kindly, "Some day you will write a great story out of your own head, that will be a comfort and help to many."
For a long time, when I wrote a letter, even to my mother, I was seized with a sudden feeling of terror, and I would spell the sentences over and over, to make sure that I had not read them in a book.
I could not make notes in class or write exercises; but I wrote all my compositions and translations at home on my typewriter.
The way in which Miss Keller wrote her story shows, as nothing else can show, the difficulties she had to overcome.
Long corrections she wrote out on her typewriter, with catch-words to indicate where they belonged.
Those he wrote about Gerakov: 'Lectures for the corps inditing'...
After he returned my phone, he wrote down all our names and pertinent information.
The Annie of Dean's dreams had long blonde hair but kept her head turned from him as she wrote in her journal.
He picked up his pad and wrote, "Lost them."
After showering and dressing, he wrote a short note explaining he would be at police headquarters until midmorning and slipped it under her door.
Check her purse for something she wrote and compare it.
Even he knows she wrote it.
I'll pretend the other one was really what Annie wrote here so long ago.