T.S. Eliot once said about the correspondence of English Romantic poet John Keats, “His letters are what letters ought to be: the fine things come in unexpectedly, neither introduced nor shown out, but between trifle and trifle”—which, especially in this day and age, reads as an overwrought description. After all, letters were originally the principal mode of staying in touch, catching up—a basic method of communication between individuals, not an arena for displaying literary prowess. We have Keats’ poetry for that.
