Best 4283 quotes in «talking quotes» category

I failed, he said, I got talking my ideas. It's my greatest failing.

If I don't talk about it, it's either very displeasing or very precious to me.

- If no one understands anything in the same way, what use is communication? - The best way to recycle empty soup cans is to tie a string to them and talk to yourself - from up to a mile away.

If only conversations could be more like missions. Identify the target. Get in, do the job, and get out as quickly as possible.

If we just had some time to ourselves, we could talk to each other the way we used to. Maybe about nothing in particular at first, but even that would be a start.

If writers wrote as carelessly as some people talk, then adhasdh asdglaseuyt[bn[ pasdlgkhasdfasdf.

If you don’t think talk is cheap, we need to have a heart-to-heart conversation.

If you throw a stone into the ocean, it will reach the bottom; if you throw a word into someone’s heart, it will reach their soul.

If your not brave enough to talk to a stranger how do you think they will become anything more then a stranger.

I had a dream about you last night, for the millionth time! We did what we always do in my dreams. We talked, but we never made out. How come I still dream about you if we never freaking make out?

I guess maybe a talking man hasn't got the time to ever learn much about anything except words.

I hit my chest with my fist, accusing my body of failing. I’ve had eighty years to adjust and never have. Am I broken? We’ll start there. No. You’re not broken. You are possibly the most loyal and faithful siren I’ve ever had. So, one of the best? Is it bad to tell You that I don’t really want to be good at this job? She swirled around my face and hair, trying to console me. No one with a beating heart could enjoy killing their own. I’m not human, I argued. I’m less than that. Kahlen, my sweet girl, you are still human. Your body may be unchanging, but your soul still bends and sways. I assure you, in the deepest part of yourself, you are still connected to humanity. I kept crying, my tears joining Her waves. Then why can’t I cope with any human contact? Elizabeth has had her lovers. As have many a siren before her. It’s not surprising, considering how beautiful you are. If it’s so typical, then why can’t I do that? She laughed, a motherly sound in my head, as if She knew me better than I knew myself. Because you and Elizabeth are very different people. She’s looking for passion and excitement. In her dark world, those interludes are like fireworks. You long for relationships, for love. It’s why you protect your sisters so fiercely, why you always return to Me even when I don’t call, and why you mourn so heavily at taking lives.

I hated talking, and I hated listening to everyone else stumble on their words and try to phrase things in the vaguest possible way so they wouldn’t sound dumb.

I hate having to repeat myself, but sometimes there is really nothing else to say

I have a theory that sometimes people think they need to talk as much as possible, almost as if talking more equates to knowing more.

I’m so happy to be back here. You’re nice and quiet. Her waters stirred in something close to laughter. We don’t have to talk at all if you don’t want to. I’m happy just to hold you. I sank down, resting on the sandy Ocean floor, legs crossed and arms behind my head. I watched the trails of boats crisscrossing and fading along the surface above me. Fish swam by in schools, not spooked by the girl on the ground. So, about six months? I asked, my stomach twisting. Yes, barring some natural disaster or man-made sinking. I can’t predict those things. I know. Don’t start worrying about that yet. I can tell you’re still hurting from the last time. She wrapped me in sympathy. I lifted my arms as if I was stroking Her, though of course my tiny body was unable to truly embrace Hers. I feel like I never have enough time to get over a singing before the next one comes. I have nightmares, and I’m a nervous wreck during the weeks leading up to it. My chest felt hollow with misery. I’m afraid I’ll always remember how it feels. You won’t. In all My years, I’ve never had a freed siren come back to Me demanding that I fix her memories. Do You hear from them at all? Not intentionally. I feel people when they’re in Me. It’s how I find new girls. It’s how I listen for anyone who might suspect the true nature of My needs. Sometimes a former siren will go for a swim or stick her legs off a dock. I can get a peek at their lives, and no one has remembered Me yet. I’ll remember You, I promised. I could feel Her embracing me. For all eternity, I’ll never forget you. I love you. And I love You. You can rest here tonight, if you like. I’ll make sure no one finds you. Can I just stay down here forever? I don’t want to worry about hurting people unintentionally. Or disappointing my sisters. Aisling has her cottage, so maybe I could build a little house down here out of driftwood. She ran a current down my back gently. Sleep. You’ll feel differently in the morning. Your sisters would be lost without you. Trust Me, they think it all the time. Really? Really. Thank You. Rest. You’re safe.

I kept my eyes on the road, and felt tunnel vision setting in. I wanted to talk—I wanted Weaver to explain why he fucking ignored me this past year! And I wanted him to shut up and never say another word to me.

I knew people were talking, but I wasn't listening. I wasn't interested in anything anyone had to say.

I love to hear myself talk, because I get so much instruction and moral upheaval out of it.

I like people who can keep the conversation going no matter how random the topic gets.

I love talking the way Trappists love silence.

I'm afraid if I say what I am thinking, it will be too much too soon.

Indiscreet, dear girl, means we shouldn’t have been talking about what we were talking about where we were talking about it.

I'm only talking to one person here. If that's you, then you need to shut up and listen. If it's not, then you need to shut up because no one's talking to you.

I needed her to stop. Needed not to hear the pain in her voice--to see the way she was twisting the pocketbook strap. If she kept talking, she might break down and tell me everything.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean--" "To speak of it?" asked the K'mir. Diane nodded. "You have to, just to bleed off the poison from the memory.

In life, as in art, talking vitiates doing.

Influence is when you are not the one talking and yet your words fill the room; when you are absent and yet your presence is felt everywhere.

In many a case, the phrase ‘I’d like to get to know you better’ is a euphemism for ‘I want us to fuck.

In most gardens", the Tiger-lily said, "they make the beds too soft-so that the flowers are always asleep.

I only say I love you when I mean it just like I only speak in tongues when I’m heated.

I observe out of the corner of my eye that the man with the notebook is walking towards me and obviously intends to introduce himself. Why do human beings have to talk, I find myself wondering. Is it really necessary for us to make these noises?

...I only told you about it because I thought I might get a laugh out of you for once even if it wasn't the truth, Jessie. Things don't have to be true to talk about 'em, you know.

Isn't it weird that everything that's coming out of my mouth is going directly into the past?

I really don't care that much about 'Beauties'. What I really like are Talkers.

I should think a dead language would be rather boring, socially speaking.

Issues or fears of confrontation tend to showcase unhealthy and unprofessional communication. If you are trusting someone to tell you all the good, bad and ugly, but they only give you the good out of their fears and confrontational issues… the bad and the ugly can grow worse and worse quickly.

I start to worry that I should be saying something. Most of the time I think I could be perfectly content without saying a single word, but no one else seems to function that way. There is so much talking in the world, and so much expectation to talk, even if you do not feel like talking. I find it overwhelming.

I tend to avoid people who always have something to say … and those who expect me to always have something to say.

I talk to children like adults and to adults like children.

I've been talking to myself a lot lately. I don't know what that's about, but my mother was the same way. She hated to make small talk with other people, but get her into a conversation with herself and she was quite the raconteur. She would tell herself a joke and clap her hands together as she let out a laugh; she would murmur to the plants as she watered them, and offer encouragement to the food as she cooked it. Sometimes I would walk into a room and surprise her as she was regaling herself with some delightful story, and I remember how the sound would dry up in her mouth. She stood there, frozen in the headlights of my teenage scorn.

It's been my experience that only children never learn when to keep their fucking traps shut. An older brother would have beat that out of you.

It's easier to get over a thing" Scobie said, "if you talk about it

It's far more important why is being said, than what.

I used to be afraid about what people might say or think after reading what I had written. I am not afraid anymore, because when I write, I am not trying to prove anything to anyone, I am just expressing myself and my opinions. It’s ok if my opinions are different from those of the reader, each of us can have his own opinions. So writing is like talking, if you are afraid of writing, you may end up being afraid of talking

It was always this way: The more people talked, the more they obscured. You didn't need to argue for the truth. You could see it.

I was a talking lover, which most women hate.

I was wondering if I could talk to you?” I fiddled with one of the drawstrings of my hoodie [...] “Talk?” He stared up at me with a blank expression. I hated blank expressions, because people only used them when they didn’t want to show what they were really feeling. And I really sucked at trying to figure out what people were feeling. “Yeah,” I said, rather condescendingly. “You know, that thing you do where you open your mouth and words come out?

I was stressed and scared and I had to hurry to be someone, become something, do something. I was running and talking and cursed myself when I wasted my time on things that wouldn’t get me anywhere. It was work and it was money and I was never where I was, always somewhere else in my head far, far away.

Make a concise statement clearly and you should only need to say it once.