Best 376 quotes in «dialogue quotes» category

D'un œil sévère, tel un général d'armée s'adonnant à la décimation, je scrutai mon studio à la recherche d'une source potentielle de liquidités. Les objets tremblaient sous mon regard. Pas moi ! Pas moi ! semblaient-ils me dire. Le sort tomba sur le plus jeune : un grille-pain offert à noël et qui ayant adopté les mœurs locales, lisait, le ventre vide, un volume de Jean Racine. Je m'approchai de lui. A ses côtés, la bouilloire électrique poussa un soupir de soulagement. Le grille-pain, comprenant son sort, s'accrocha en pleurant à sa prise électrique. -Quel est mon crime ? Pourquoi m'assassiner ? Qu'ai-je fait ? A quel titre ? Qui te l'a dit ?

During the Reformation and the Enlightenment, nature came to be understood in a mechanistic sense as bereft of any capacity for divine grace or revelation. We’ll explore this suggestion further in the next chapter. In order to appreciate the significance of this, we have to recognize that nature is a cultural construct. When we speak of nature, we are using language to describe the world around us with all its species, life-forms and landscapes. But nature is a concept whose meaning changes with different perceptions and ways of looking at the world. This means that supernatural is also a concept which has different meanings, for it refers to phenomena or experiences which do not seem to fit within our particular expectations of what nature is or should be. The term supernatural therefore depends on a certain concept of what natural is. For many people who are less determinately materialist than Dawkins, there may be an indeterminate region which is neither strictly natural nor strictly supernatural. A red rose may be natural, but when I am given one by the person I love, I experience a range of emotions, memories and associations which endow that rose with symbolic significance and make it, in some sense, supernatural. It transcends its natural biological functions to communicate something in the realms of beauty, hope and love.

Ed began explaining this Yo La Tengo thing, how he was listening to a record of theirs, on vinyl he emphasized, and he'd been thinking about a genre of music called shoegaze something about the body language of the shoegazer, the perpetual crumpling or downward slope of the gazer's neck, and then he changed the subject, abruptly, to nettle root—had I ever taken nettle root? I was in a subdued, semi-meditative state, but he repeated himself, louder—Mary, have you ever taken nettle root?—and I said, Um, no, to which he immediately began chanting.

Eleanor leaned in closer and lowered her voice. "Aiyah, these people aren't just everyday rich with a few hundred million. They are China rich! We're talking billions and billions.

En un sens, le titre d’ancien, utilisé à son adresse par l’homme des bois, le ravit. C’est la reconnaissance implicite du peuple des bois à son égard, l’offre respectueuse de partager une existence en ces terres. Opinant du chef, Gibbie soutient : - J’ai les paumes pleines de farine. - Mes doigts sont percés d’échardes, agrée simplement Kardys. Les bruits reprennent dans le moulin, chacun revenant à ce qu’il faisait. Le grand forestier poursuit : - Alors, c’en était bien un… - Un Pâle-de-la-Nuit, réaffirme lugubrement le meunier. Et d’ajouter à la cantonade, avant de se replonger dans sa chope : - Je l’ai vu et entendu comme je vous vois.

Estragon: Acaba beraber olmasaydık ikimiz için de daha hayırlı olmaz mıydı? (sahneyi baştan başa geçer, tümseğe oturur.) Aynı yolun yolcuları değiliz aslında. Vladimir: (kızmadan) Orası belli değil. Estragon: Doğru, hiçbir şey belli değil. (Vladimir sahneyi baştan başa geçer, Estragon'un yanına oturur.) Vladimir: Her zaman ayrılabiliriz; bizim için daha iyi olacağına inanıyorsan. Estragon: Artık değmez. (sessizlik) Vladimir: Doğru, artık değmez. (sessizlik) Estragon: Eee, gidelim mi? Vladimir: Evet, gidelim. (Kımıldamazlar.)

Every phrase had to be captured on paper or it wasn't real, it slipped away. I'd see the words hanging in midair--Camille, pass the milk-- and anxiety coiled up in me as they began to fade, like jet exhaust. Writing them down, though, I had them. No worries that they'd become extinct. I was a lingual conservationist. I was the class freak, a tight, nervous eighth-grader frenziedly copying down phrases ("Mr. Feeney is totally gay," "Jamie Dobson is ugly," "They never have chocolate milk") with a keenness bordering on the religious.

Excuse me for a moment, will ye. I think I have to talk to the river,' he said unsteadily and flopped over the side-rail.

For us to progress, we must be community in liberty, equality and fraternity.

Explaining a professor's emphasis on teaching over research: "She traded clinical questions with determinable answers for perennial questions with inexhaustible answers.

Flirt with the old ladies and you’ll be fine,” I muttered, shoving my stuff into the cubby. He hung his green hoodie on the hooks right beside me. “Is that how you get by?” “Doesn’t work on the old ladies for me, but the old men on the other hand?” I paused and glanced at my nails. “Yeah, doesn’t work on them either.

Forget Trevor," Reva said. "You'll meet someone better, if you ever leave your apartment." She sipped and poured and went on about how "it's all about your attitude," and that "positive thinking is more powerful than negative thinking, even in equal amounts." She'd recently read a book called How to Attract the Man of Your Dreams Using Self-hypnosis, and so she went on to explain to me the difference between "wish fulfillment" and "manifesting your own reality." I tried not to listen. "Your problem is that you're passive. You wait around for things to change, and they never will. That must be a painful way to live. Very disempowering," she said, and burped. I had taken some Risperdal. I was feeling woozy. "Have you ever heard the expression 'eat shit or die'?" I asked. Reva unscrewed the tequila and poured more into her can. "It's 'eat shit and die," she said.

Free speech doesn't solve political conflicts. It creates them. Solving them requires more advanced tools like trust, humility, dialogue, listening.

He began to prefer talking on the phone to actually getting together with someone, preferred the bodilessness of it, and started to turn down social engagements. He didn't want to actually sit across from someone in a restaurant, look at their face, and eat food. He wanted to turn away, not deal with the face, have the waitress bring them two tin cans and some string so they could just converse, in a faceless dialogue.

From a personal experience and the examination of literature, I feel that we cannot take for granted that a dialogue, without information and perhaps without understanding, is possible between any individuals or groups on all levels. So the prerequisite is information.

Have you never heard the saying ‘you attract more flies with honey than vinegar’?” “Why would I want to attract flies?” “Never mind.

Has Solan addled your brain?

Having personality does not mean being violent, rather honouring life by taking a stand. In this era so devoid of values, where people think it is safe to do everything that comes to mind, there is a need for purity. Man can and must have direction. Jews and Catholics must work together to help the man who suffers, and most importantly, look ahead.

He asked, "May I kiss you?" I stopped blinking. The six lanes of traffic stopped moving. That question made the world stop spinning. A chill ran up and down my spine. My hands opened and closed a thousand times.

Her English was sweet, an effort for her, anachronistic and unpractised.

He left her and looked round for his glass again. Meanwhile, he said to himself in a quoting voice: "We are minor in everything but our passions." "Wherever did you read that?" "Nowhere: I woke up and heard myself saying it, one night." "How pompous you were in the night. I'm so glad I was asleep.

He placed his hand on Willem's arm. 'Willem, don't cry.' 'I'm not going to,' he said. 'I can do other things in life besides cry, you know,' although he was no longer sure that was even true.

HERMIONE: I’m sorry, Severus. SNAPE looks at her, and then swallows the pain. He indicates RON with a flick of his head. SNAPE: Well, at least I’m not married to him.

He waved a hand. 'Never mind. It doesn't matter. Perhaps I did look guilty there for a while. In any event, it was interesting being the prime suspect for a moment or two.' 'If only we'd confided in one another,' I said. 'But we've never been very good at that, have we?' 'It could be worse. At least you've never tried to drown me in my bathtub.' I let out a sound that was some cross between a laugh and a sigh. 'Do be serious, Milo.

He wonders aloud at the origins of valentining. 'You're right,' Rachel says. 'It is a verb. Can be. And birds valentine each other, make mating calls. And usually mate in mid-February. You see?' 'But why Valentine?' asks Zach. 'Why valentining?' 'There were many Saint Valentines,' offers Tasha. 'I don't know what the link is between their martyrdom and love letters.' Zach is not very interested in the old tradition or the archaic verb. He is not bothered by the mating calls of passerines or the saints named Valentine and their associated symbols—he is merely fishing. Does Rachel think the tradition silly? If he were to send her a valentine, how strange would that be?

His friend laughed. 'You missed your calling, Freddie,' he said. 'You should have been one of the aforementioned clergy. Is this what marriage does to you? One shudders at the very idea.

I am come,' the Demon said simply, in a droning monotone. 'I am with the dead of the lake. Come to me.' Then the appearance of the skull-face vanished and the blood burst into a shroud of flame, spreading through the throne room in a storm of brilliant red and yellow. The screams could be heard half a league away.

How's Alison getting on?' Conway snorted. 'Tucked up in the sick room like she's dying in some season finale. Little fadey voice on her and all. She's having a great old time.

Humans want answers, answers that compute; this does not compute Will Robinson! This was dialogue between a young boy and a robot from a TV series in the late 1960s. This TV series was a precursor for the new technology humans were about to be introduced to in the late twentieth century.

I adore your jealousy, especially when it's so misplaced. I expect Shakespeare wrote a sonnet about that.

I am still not used to being the possessor of such a grand title. I believe I shall have to start wearing a purple satin turban and carrying a lorgnette.

I am not a neurotic!" "You're trembling with nerves and sensibility—" "Of course I am, I'm an artist!

I am not a very nice character. You must get to know me some time.

I appreciate friendliness, and I understand the basic human need for connection through conversation. But I will not sit and talk about the weather for 5 mins. That's 5 mins of my life I won't get back. Small talk should be, at best, an ice-breaker, not an entire dialogue. We can either upgrade the conversation, or move on.

I call the right axe Sorrow," she said. "You know what I call the left one?" "Happiness?" "Sorrow. I can't tell them apart.

I came to the conclusion that, even in life, unless I’m responding with my whole self—unless, in fact, I’m willing to be changed by you—I’m probably not really listening. But if I do listen—openly, naïvely, and innocently—there’s a chance, possibly the only chance, that a true dialogue and real communication will take place between us.

I didn't intend to go in that direction but strange things happen when the lights go out.

I cannot say your worships have delivered the matter well when I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables [...] our very priests must become mockers if they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your beards, and your beards deserve not so honorable a grave as to stuff a botcher's cushion or to be entombed in an ass's packsaddle [...] more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians. I will be bold to take my leave with you.

Dialogue Should Move the Story Forward, Provide Information, or Enhance Characterization, Unless You’re Really Witty The best dialogue can do all three. This is a rule that’s often broken by great writers, but before you can get away with breaking it, you have to understand why it exists. Recently, I reread one of my first stories. I thought it would be fun to reread, but I was disappointed in much of the dialogue. In the middle of a scene, my heroine Mildred and the housekeeper broke into an exchange about what my heroine wanted for dinner. I think they were the only two people in the world who cared about it. Readers never even got to see them eat this dinner, and the exchange had no point. It didn’t advance the plot, and it told us nothing about Mildred except that she hated sour beef and dumplings. But let’s say you’re writing a romantic mystery where several people are poisoned by arsenic in the sour beef and dumplings. Suddenly that exchange becomes crucial because the reader knows Mildred was spared because she didn’t like the dish — does this mean the killer poisoned that dish because he didn’t want her to die? Or let’s say the point of the scene is that Mildred’s late father is a famous chef whose specialty was sour beef and dumplings, and Mildred confesses that no longer eats this dish because it brings back too many memories. Now the scene tells us something about Mildred’s personality, not just about her food intake. It wouldn’t take much work to use this exchange to move the plot forward while telling us something about Mildred and sharing the information about the food she likes. Are you a witty author? Are you sure? If so, then you can get away with writing dialogue that doesn’t advance the plot, doesn’t tell us anything about the character, and doesn’t provide information to the reader. But even if you can get away with it, why should you do this? Even the most sparkling dialogue won’t help your story if it’s completely empty of anything but wit.

I do have a life,' says Charis, blinking wet eyes. 'You have a rich inner life,' says Tony firmly. 'More than most.

If all existence is a dialogue, how is it there is still so much left unsaid?

I don't think you truly realize what it means for the gates of Tyersall Park to be closed to you forever." Nick laughed. "Jacqueline, you sound like some character out of a Trollope novel!

I don't think she's had much of a life." "Well, a life is a life." "What does that mean?" "One never knows. I daresay most lives are rotten. It's only when one's young one expects otherwise.

I feel I'm at the end of something — everything is going to be different — and terrible." "That doesn't sound like you, you ride every wave." "There is one that will drown me.

I guess you probably won't be drinking the Johnnie Walker Black Label I brought for you," Corinna remarked. "I honor your gesture, but I only drink reverse-osmosis water these days, " Bernard said. "I honor your gesture?" My God, look what happens to Hong Kong men when they move to California, Corinna thought in horror.

If we think about what happens in a human conversation, bees do seem to converse. Like us, they pass information, evaluate, respond, and reevaluate as new information emerges. We both pass on nuanced, complex signals perceived on many levels, some conscious and some at a subconscious neurological or physiological levels. Most significantly we - and bees - often change our behaviour based on a conversation, which is one of the hallmarks of a social interaction. Bees respond to each other, which is one of the core reasons we relate so strongly to them.

I feel very, very alone." "We're all alone, Reva," I told her. It was true: I was, she was. This was the maximum comfort I could offer.

If my 'mind' don't mind, I don't mind.

I heard you on the phone with her. I happened to be in your arms, and you happened to be inside of me, balls deep from what I remember, so I felt the difference, felt what you felt for her, heard how your voice changed when you talked to her.

I have seen a stunning amount of death and destruction. Creation yes, but more death than birth. Mankind has learned nothing from their forefathers. Their ancestors. It is true what they say: history does repeat itself, Delacroix, and those after history are left to make it, but how can they,” he removed his hand from the globe, waving it thoughtfully through the air, “when it has already been made?