(The rhyme obliges me to this; sometimes Monarchs are less imperative than rhymes) - Lord Byron

Letter writing is the only device combining solitude with good company.

But 'why then publish?' There are no rewards
Of fame or profit when the world grows weary.
I ask in turn why do you play at cards?
Why drink? Why read? To make some hour less dreary.
It occupies me to turn back regards
On what I've seen or pondered, sad or cheery,
And what I write I cast upon the stream
To swim or sink. I have had at least my dream.

Where all have gone, and all must go
To be the nothing that I was
'Ere born to life and living woe!