Quotes About Listening

When a person should be spoken with, and you don't speak with them, you lose them. When a person shouldn't be spoken with and you speak to them, you waste your breath. The wise do not lose people, nor do they waste their breath.

To one who is not eager I do not reveal anything, nor do I explain anything to one who is not communicative. If I raise one corner for someone and he cannot come back with the other three, I do not go on.

Not to talk with people although they can be talked with is to waste people. To talk with people although they can't be talked with is to waste words. A man of understanding does not waste people, but he also does not waste words.

Avant d'ouvrir la bouche, assure-toi que ce que tu vas dire est plus beau que le silence.

Has he ever even said he loved you? He's been telling me for years, she said softly, I just wasn't listening

He didn't say a lot so I tend to remember what he did say. And I don't remember that he had a lot of patience with havin to say things twice so I learned to listen the first time.

Toward early morning he woke, sat up quickly and looked about him. It was still dark and the fire had long since died, still dark and quiet with that silence that seems to be of itself listening, an astral quiet where planets collide soundlessly, beyond the auricular dimension altogether. He listened. Above the black ranks of trees the mid-summer sky arched cloudless and coldly starred. He lay back and stared at it and after a while he slept.

For let it go how it will, he said, God speaks in the least of creatures. The kid thought him to mean birds or things that crawl but the expriest, watching, his head slightly cocked, said: No man is give leave of that voice. The kid spat into the fire and bent to his work. I aint heard no voice, he said. When it stops, said Tobin, you'll know you've heard it all your life. Is that right? Aye.

The blackness he woke to on those nights was sightless and impenetrable. A blackness to hurt your ears with listening.

The blackness he woke to on those nights was sightless and impenetrable. A blackness to hurt your ears with listening. Often he had to get up. No sound but the wind in the trees. He rose and stood tottering in that cold autistic dark with his arms outheld for balance while the vestibular calculations in his skull cranked out their reckonings.

No, Professor, it aint nothin like that. You dont have to be virtuous. You just has to be quiet. I cant speak for the Lord but the experience I've had leads me to believe that he'll speak to anybody that'll listen. You damn sure aint got to be virtuous.

If I'm not here you can still talk to me. You can talk to me and I'll talk to you. You'll see.

What do you say to em? Say to them? Yeah. Say. Hell, say anything. It doesnt matter, they dont listen. Well you gotta say somethin. What do you say? Try the direct approach. What's that? Well, like this friend of mine. Went up to this girl and said I sure would like to have a little pussy. No shit? What'd she say? She said I would too. Mine's as big as your hat.

It was still dark and the fire had long since died, still dark and quiet with that silence that seems to be of itself listening

Black: The point is, Professor, that I aint got the first notion in the world about what makes God tick. I don't know why he spoke to me. I wouldnt of. White: But you listened. Black: Well what choice would you have? White: I don't know. Not listen? Black: How you goin to do that?

Una negrura como para que dolieran los oídos de escucha

You think sometimes I dont listen. I think you listen. I'm not so sure what you hear.

They listened with great attention as John Grady answered their questions and they nodded solemnly and they were careful of their demeanor that they not be thought to have opinions on what they heard for like most men skilled at their work they were scornful of any least suggestion of knowing anything not learned at first hand.

Dustfinger closed his eyes and listened. He was home again.

Don't let it worry you, not being able to speak,'Dustfinger had often told her. 'People tend not to listen anyway, right?

How fast the ears learned to tell what sounds meant, much faster than it took the eyes to decipher written words.

Time is a horse that runs in the heart, a horse Without a rider on a road at night. The mind sits listening and hears it pass.

No te preocupes por no poder hablar -solía decirle Dedo Polvoriento-. La gente no suele prestar atención.

She] did not reply. She didn't want to talk to anyone. She just wanted to listen to what her bewildered heart was telling her.