Quotes About Communication

If I hurt your feelings we ought to discuss it. I don't like this kiss-and-forget.' 'But I don't want to argue. I think it's wonderful that we can kiss and forget, and when we can't it'll be time to argue.

How do you do, Captain," she said, unfastening her eyes from his with difficulty, as though they had become entangled.

Nobody ever became a writer just by wanting to be one. If you have anything to say, anything you feel nobody has ever said before, you have got to feel it so desperately that you will find some way to say it that nobody has ever found before, so that the thing you have to say and the way of saying it blend as one matter--as indissolubly as if they were conceived together.

I wish I could write. I get these ideas but I never seem to be able to put them in words.

Then he put in a call for Nicole in Zurich, remembering so many things as he waited, and wishing he had always been as good as he had intended to be.

For a moment a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a dumb man's, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled air. But they made no sound, and what I had almost remembered was uncommunicable forever

No, interrupted Marcia emphatically. And you're a sweet boy. Come here and kiss me. Horace stopped quickly in front of her. Why do you want me to kiss you? he asked intently. Do you just go round kissing people? Why, yes, admitted Marcia, unruffled. 'At's all life is. Just going around kissing people.

Their hands touched for an instant, but neither spoke. Silences were becoming more frequent and more delicious.

She told him in a dozen ways, of which the best was without words, how she had missed him. Her emotion reassured him, promised his anxious heart that everything would be all right.

He wondered idly whether she was a poor conversationalist because she got no attention or got no attention because she was a poor conversationalist.

I can never judge a man while he's talking

What's death to me is just a lot of words to you. You put em' together so pretty.

I do, she protested; I want to stand on the street corner like a sandwich man, informing all the passers-by.

They had never been closer in their month of love, nor communicated more profoundly one with another

If you write me letters, please let them be natural ones. 

The reason one writes isn't the fact he wants to say something. He writes because he has something to say.

Some time before he introduced himself I'd got a strong impression that he was picking his words with care.

All thought usually reached the public after thirty years in some such form: The man on the street heard the conclusions of some dead genius through someone else's clever paradoxes and didactic epigrams.

But they made no sound, and what I had almost remembered was uncommunicable forever.

A girl who could send tear-stained telegrams.

I returned rather feebly to the subject of her daughter. 'I suppose she talks, she eats, and everything.

Afterwards he remembered one reply of hers to something he had asked her. He remembered it in this form – perhaps he had unconsciously arranged and polished it.

As he spoke there was in his heart that tremulousness that we take for sincerity in ourselves.

It understood you just so far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.