Quotes About Communication

Man cannot reach the shrine if he does not make the pilgrimage. Languages are jealous. They do not give up their best treasures to those who try to deal with them through an intermediary belonging to an alien rival.

The modern age has brought the geography of the earth near to us, but made it difficult for us to come into touch with man

Oh! what lies we women have to tell! When we are mothers, we tell lies to pacify our children; and when we are wives, we tell lies to pacify the fathers of our children. We are never free from this necessity.

While Ratan was awaiting her call, the postmaster was awaiting a reply to his application.

The world speaks to me in pictures, my soul answers in music.

black eyes need no translating; the mind itself throws a shadow upon them. In them thought opens or shuts, shines forth or goes out in darkness, hangs steadfast like the setting moon or like the swift and restless lightning illumines all quarters of the sky. They who from birth have had no other speech than the trembling of their lips learn a language of the eyes, endless in expression, deep as the sea, clear as the heavens, wherein play dawn and sunset, light and shadow. The

The deepest source of all calamities in history is misunderstanding. For where we do not understand, we can never be just. Being

WE, the rustling leaves, have a voice that answers the storms, but who are you so silent?" "I am a mere flower.

They who from birth have had no other speech than the trembling of their lips learn a language of the eyes, endless in expression, deep as the sea, clear as the heavens, wherein play dawn and sunset, light and shadow.

But black eyes need no translating; the mind itself throws a shadow upon them. In them thought opens or shuts, shines forth or goes out in darkness, hangs steadfast like the setting moon or like the swift and restless lightning illumines all quarters of the sky. They who from birth have had no other speech than the trembling of their lips learn a language of the eyes, endless in expression, deep as the sea, clear as the heavens, wherein play dawn and sunset, light and shadow.

I thought I would write love's words in their own colour; but that lies deep in the heart, and tears are pale. Would you know them, friend, if the words were colourless? I thought I would sing love's words to their own tune, but that sounds only in my heart, and my eyes are silent. Would you know them, friend, if there were no tune?

In this world of human affairs there is no worse nuisance than a boy at the age of fourteen. He is neither ornamental nor useful. It is impossible to shower affection on him as on a little boy; and he is always getting in the way. If he talks with a childish lisp he is called a baby, and if he answers in a grown-up way he is called impertinent. In fact any talk at all from him is resented.

If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure it. I will keep still and wait like the night with starry vigil and its head bent low with patience. The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish, and thy voice pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky. Then thy words will take wing in songs from every one of my birds' nests, and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest groves.

The child gets two confusing messages when a parent tells him which is the right fork to use, and then proceeds to use the wrong one. So does the child who listens to parents bicker and fuss, yet is told to be nice to his brothers and sisters.

Your words are so powerful that they can break hearts or fill them with joy. Your words have the ability to comfort a wounded soul or shatter someone's confidence. Your words can act as your messengers of hope or a salve for a broken human being.

If you ask me if I'm okay again, I'm going to smack myself in the face just to punish you.

Eve: She told me last! Shane: Boyfriend! Michael: Landlord! Eve: Crap. Right. Next time you sell your soul to the devil, I get first contact!

If you ask me if I'm okay again, I'm going to smack myself in the face just to punish you.

The discipline of the writer is to learn to be still and listen to what his subject has to tell him.

Somewhere between a friend and acquaintance—a frequaintance, as it were.

I've given him more mixed signals than a dyslexic Morse code operator.

I probably didn't share his feelings – he hoped, really, that I didn't – but he was no longer interested in socialising; in fact, increasingly he found other people positively bewildering. The interesting ones are like islands, he said: you don't bump into them on the street or at a party, you have to know where they are and go to them by arrangement.

I had found out more, I said, by listening than I had ever thought possible.

She never said anything unless she had something important to express, which made you realise how much of what people generally said – and he included himself in this statement – was unimportant.