People don't write letters so much anymore. I wish they did. Vladmir Nabokov wrote the most beautiful letters to his wife, Vera. They are being published in a book by Kopf soon. Some, written on his tour around the American south, are descriptions of most intricate detail and observations contemplative and intrigued. Some are just written for the sake of the letter as treasured object, thought memorialised. A sweet note, one of his last to Vera, July 4, 1969:

How charming to hear your pure little voice in the garden, from my balcony.
Such sweet notes, such tender rhythms. Cordially yours, V.N.