Dear Mr. Webster,
I have long admired you from afar. Your wordlist makes my heart go pitter-pat. I dream of our volumes nestled side by side in the darkened library.
With Affection and Anticipation,
Although I am indeed deeply flattered, I am afraid it cannot be. In truth, my dear, I am old enough to be your grandfather. It must be said, many of my entries are obsolete, and I would only be holding back a modern young tome such as yourself. Surely you would have your choice of engineering volumes, programming manuals, or physics texts closer to your own age. I understand some of those cutting-edge quantum sciences are quite exciting.
With fond regrets,
My heart is crushed like the petals of Callirhoe involucrata in a pestle for protein electrophoresis.
I care not for dreary college textbooks and dry programming manuals! My bits and bytes burn for only one ... and that is Webster 1913
Oh, Webster 1913, why won't you be my grease cock, my futtock, my horehound? I will gladly be your Ralph ...