Quotes About Communication

los escritores escribimos mucho mejor de lo que hablamos)

Estoy convencida de que el arte primordial es el narrativo, porque, para poder ser, los humanos nos tenemos previamente que contar. La identidad no es más que el relato que hacemos de nosotros mismos.

Sin embargo, y a pesar de ello, los escritores nos empeñamos en poner #Palabras en la nada

A saber de dónde saldrá esa necesidad absoluta que nos convierte a todos los escritores en eternos indigentes de la mirada ajena.

No son precisamente esos muros invisibles de cosas silenciadas uno de los elementos más habituales de la vida en común?

Lo traumático no es siempre lo que hace ruido, sino lo que queda mudo»

convertirse, en ocasiones, en perfectos extraños. Y los peores son los extraños bien sincronizados, aquellos que entran y salen juntos, que van de vacaciones, que cenan con los amigos y jamás discuten, pero que luego, cuando están los dos solos, ni se miran a los ojos, sideralmente separados por el telón de hierro de todo lo que han dejado de compartir y decirse.

pena huele a metal frío, te dirían los perros si pudieran.

Dicen que sólo necesitamos siete segundos para hacernos un primer bosquejo de la persona, y un minuto y medio para comunicarnos. Y una mierda. Ese es el tiempo que necesitamos para empezar a inventarnos al otro, en todo caso.

Las palabras son como peces abisales que sólo te enseñan un destello de escamas entre las aguas negras. Si se desenganchan del anzuelo, lo más probable es que no puedas volverlas a pescar. Son mañosas las palabras, y rebeldes, y huidizas. No les gusta ser domesticadas.

El arte primordial es el narrativo, porque, para poder ser, los humanos nos tenemos previamente que contar. La identidad no es más que el relato que nos hacemos de nosotros mismos.

Within the face, woman concealed one of her most potent and treacherous weapons, her tongue.

She was always left feeling like a murderer. Because the messenger becomes the murderer. Until the fatal words are spoken, the loved one concerned is still alive, waking, sleeping, going about his business, making telephone calls, writing letters, going for walks, breathing, seeing. It was the telling that killed.

It occurred to her then that people went on living until somebody told you they were dead. Perhaps it was a pity that anybody ever told anybody anything.

I can't deal with hidden undertows or unspoken feelings.

She supposed she missed him, but it was not easy to go on missing a person when life had been lived without him for so long, with the only contact his monthly letters, which were three weeks old when they arrived, and not very inspiring even then.

Eliot said nothing, just nodded his

was a palisade of noncommunication.

I get good marks at school, so I am not stupid. If I don't assert myself a bit, nobody else is going to. I have to assert myself by reasoned conversation, not sulks.

Lev,' said Ruby, 'when I was younger, I always told people the things I thought they wanted to hear. But I don't do that anymore. It's a cruel thing to do. So I can't say now that you will be free of it ( grief) and move on, because I just don't know the answer.

I felt urgently in need of some spiritual comfort, and began, at about this time, to send out messages to God. I imagined these feeble communications as minute blips of light, little wriggling glow worms which, unless God had a telescope pointed directly at them, he would be unlikely to notice.

What mattered was writing it: the act of words.

The polyglot is a linguistic nomad.

The emphasis on empathy accomplishes several significant goals in view of a posthuman theory of subjectivity. Firstly, it reappraises communication as an evolutionary tool. Secondly, it identifies in emotions, rather than in reason, the key to consciousness.