Best 376 quotes in «dialogue quotes» category

We had an unspoken love for one another. Probably because she’d never talk to me or return my phone calls or texts.

We have to accept that much of reality is ineffable and so to understand it we can't rely on words alone.

Well, anyway, this'll be easier than knocking an elf out of a tree. Trust me.' 'How many elves have you knocked out of trees, Stubble?' 'Duraden's bones! Have ye never heard of a figure of speech?

Well,' Frederick had said, 'I will see what can be arranged, Archie. But I will not have the girl frightened or compromised.' 'You sound like a grandfather who has raised fifteen daughters and is now starting on his granddaughters, Freddie,' Lord Archibald had said. 'It is most disconcerting.

We'll see you through, Martin," said Antonia . . . "So do not be guilty or worried, darling Martin." "I won't be guilty or worried, I'll be raving mad," I said. "I don't want you to see me through. I want to be left alone by both of you at long last.

Well, I've always wanted to call my son Barr." "Like a tavern? Like a soap?" "My father's name is Barr." "Oh. And I love it!

Well, then, what's the plan now? You can't stay here forever.' My plan was indeed to stay there forever.

Well, you won't abandon me, will you." "Don't be silly, Ludens, you are buckled to my heart.

We probably shouldn't be friends," I told her, stretching out on the sofa. "I've been thinking about it, and I see no reason to continue.

We usually learn from debates that we seldom learn from debates.

We're leaving," I told her one July afternoon. "We? You and I? Where are we going, young Master Paul? Do you have your belongings tied up in a red-spotted handkerchief on a stick?

What is God anyway?" "A dark place —

What do you want to do now?" he asked her. "We should probably just kill ourselves," she imagined saying.

What do you think of Poe?" "He's awful. He was obviously . . . what's the term . . . 'disappointed in love' at some point. He probably never smiled again. The pages are just bursting with his longing for women to suffer. If he ever met me he'd probably punch me on the nose." "I think Poe's quite good, actually. The whole casual horror thing. Like someone standing next to you and screaming their head off and you asking them what the fuck and them stopping for a moment to say 'Oh you know, I'm just afraid of Death' and then they keep on with the screaming.

What do you want me to say?" "I wish you would say something. Our life goes by without any comment.

What is it?” “A prayer.” “For a child?” She nodded. “For me?” Another nod. “On a tree?” “Trees spend all day looking up at God.

What I was really thinking,' resumes Rachel, 'is—well, that there's fate, you see. I don't dismiss it, I don't think it's idiotic. It's quite scientific, actually. What we become. Who we—meet, end up with,' she continues, flames in her cheeks. 'You think we would have met, no matter what? Even if I were some lushy? Some loon? Street kid?' 'You're laughing at me.' 'Just asking,' he says. 'Everyone has one person, I think. For life. That's all.

What's that?' Thaniel said, curious. The postmarks and stamps weren't English or Japanese. 'A painting. There's a depressed Dutchman who does countryside scenes and flowers and things. It's ugly, but I have to maintain the estates in Japan and modern art is a good investment.

What larks we had," said James. "When?" "When we were young." I could not recall any larks I had had with James. I poured out the wine and we sat in silence.

When he leaves home to sow his oats—" "Wild oats, Tasha. They have to be wild. Unless he ran off to be a farmer.

When Reva gave advice, it sounded as though she were reading a bad made-for-TV movie script. "A walk around the block could do wonders for your mood," she said. "Aren't you hungry?" "I'm not in the mood for food," I said. "And I don't feel like going anywhere.

When Jonas came to the phone I asked him if he remembered that we used to kiss. "I remember," he said tersely. "Is that why you called?

When Louise returned to the Aviary the others were playing the game of what character in fiction Peter Mir reminded them of. 'I think he's Mr Pickwick,' said Louise. 'Oh no! Never!' said Sefton. 'I think he's more like Prospero.' 'I think he's the Green Knight,' said Aleph. 'Come on, Moy, what do you think?' 'I think he's the Minotaur.' 'The Minotaur isn't a literary character, he's a mythical character,' Sefton objected. 'Oh really — !' 'What does Clement think?' said Aleph. 'I think he's Mephistopheles,' said Clement. 'Surely not, he's so nice!' said Louise.

Ye are a scoundrel, a black-hearted robber and a rogue,' Stubble said cheerily to the grumbling captain. It was his usual way of haggling, and he'd beaten down the riverman to a decent price for conveying himself and Anvar to Lankarn.

Where there is a readiness for dialogue, there is a chance for peace.

Why so sad?" Zach queries in fairy-tale tones. "Rachel?" "O my brother Ivanushka," she recites. "A heavy stone is round my throat, silken grass grows through my fingers, yellow sand lies on my breast." "That's perishing gloomy," Zach remarks. "It ends happily though. Gracious! Everything sounds depressing this morning," adds Rachel. "There's a teacher at my school, she's very young, but she goes, Gracious! Just like a dowager. Makes me laugh. Except this morning. I can't help it. I am too depressed. I hate those voices so much. In the Gardens." "Stop listening," Zach scolds and put his hands in her hair—silken grass grows through his fingers.

Yes, my mother was on about Byron. But who wants to be like Byron? I despise him.

You are heroic, Mr. Lynch-Gibbon. The knight of infinite humiliation. One does not know whether to kiss your feet or to recommend that you have a good analysis." She said it as one might say "a good thrashing.

You mustn't mind so much. It's all in your head." "Well, I live in my head.

You get so worked up and flowery! You sound as if you were quoting something all the time!

You know how there are words that never really—they are never really quite right. You can't quite trust them. Use them. You know. Without pause.' 'There are words I stare at,' Zach says. 'Strange. Every time. Misled, that's one. I see mizzled. And unshed. I read unched.' 'Me too! But that's a different thing—except, now you mention it, it's odd about unshed, that it's only for tears. Mostly. Hardly ever blood, for instance, you don't see unshed blood. Unched. Not really.' 'Not in my case anyway. Mine sheds all over the joint! I'm a bleeder all right.

You don't know what it is to want a man, any man. I wish I could discover some respectable male prostitutes, like civil servants or university dons who do it in their spare time for a bit of pocket money, there must be such people.

You don't much like anything, do you?" "No, nothing," said Anna, smiling her nice fat malign smile.

You haven't forgotten that we're having dinner with the Belangers this evening?" I asked. "Of course not," he said. "I am hoping that one of them will let slip that they killed their father and we can lay the thing to rest.

You really don't understand what it's like to have bad parents, do you?

A cigarette is a breathing space. It makes a parenthesis. The time of a cigarette is a parenthesis, and if it is shared, you are both in that parenthesis. Its like a proscenium arch for a dialogue.

Your lies are like a silent fart. Can't see 'em, but I can smell 'em.

You said you were having fun." "Well, yes and no, strictly speaking I was in hell. Perhaps I have always been there. One can have fun in hell.

You want to stay here and sleep your life away? That's it?" "If you knew what would make you happy, wouldn't you do it?" I asked her. "See, you do want to be happy. Then why did you tell me that being happy is dumb?" she asked. "You said that to me more than once." "Let me be dumb," I said, glugging the NyQuil. "You go be smart and tell me how great it is. I'll be here, hibernating." Reva rolled her eyes. "It's natural," I told her. "People used to hibernate all the time." "People never hibernated. Where are you getting this?" She could look really pathetic when she was outraged. She got up and stood there holding her stupid knockoff Kate Spade bag or whatever it was, her hair pulled back into a ponytail and crowned with a useless, plastic, tortoiseshell headband. She was always getting her hair blown out, her eyebrows waxed into thin, arched, parentheses, her fingernails painted various shades of pink and purple, as though all of this made her a wonderful person. "It's not up for discussion, Reva. This is what I'm doing. If you can't accept it, then you don't have to.

You're a pretty woman." "I'm almost as pretty as that silver wedding ring on your left hand.

You're right, it's all going to be perfection," Kitty said, gazing out the window as the workmen began rehanging The Palace of Eighteen Perfections on her drawing-room wall.

You think I exaggerate." "At the moment—" "Well, this sort of moment never really stops . . .

You've obviously never been in love." "I have actually. And awfully. And—always—without hope—I've never had my love reciprocated ever.

A dialogue leads to connection, which leads to trust which leads to engagement

A dialogue among civilizations can be seen as a dialogue between the individual and the universal.

A dialogue sounds like a great idea, but we don't think the government actually wants one. The royal family lied in 2011 when they said they were ready for dialogue. Now we have suffered even more and we will not give up our rights.

Advertising becomes a dialogue that becomes an invitation to a relationship.

A fully functional multiracial society cannot be achieved without a sense of history and open, honest dialogue.

By blood and faith, Jews are God's chosen, and have no need for 'dialogue' with any gentile.

All politicians have three ways of expressing themselves - the intimate dialogue that can often be violent and raw, then the dialogue in front of the camera and then big public speeches.