Quotes About Communication

The women in my life have all been librarians, English teachers, or booksellers. If they couldn't speak pidgin Tolstoy, articulate Henry James, or give me directions to Usher and Ox, it was no go. I have always longed for education, and pillow talk's the best.

Old men only lie in wait for people to ask them to talk. Then they rattle on like a rusty elevator wheezing up a shaft.

les livres ne racontent rien. Rien que tu puisse croire ou enseigner aux autre. Si ce sont des romans, ils parlent d'êtres qui n'existent pas, de produits de l'imagination. Dans le cas contraire, c'est encore pire. Chaque professeur traite l'autre d'idiot. Chaque philosophe essaie de brailler plus fort que son adversaire. Ils galopent tous dans tous les sens, obscurcissant les étoiles, éteignant le soleil. On en sort complètement perdu.

It's not books you need, it's some of the things that once were in books. The same things could be in the "parlour families" today. The same infinite detail and awareness could be projected through the radios and televisors, but are not.

Somewhere, a book said once, all the talk ever talked, all the songs ever sung, still lived, had vibrated way out in space and if you could travel to Far Centauri you could hear George Washington talking in his sleep or Caesar surprised at the knife in his back.

All of us improbable to one another because we are not present to one another

We all just gave up on that and stayed friends. ?? ?????? ????????? ?? ???? ???????? ? ???????? ????????.

We need to make progress. Otherwise we're waiting for news in a world where there is no longer any news.

I bet it's the eleventh Commandment," murmured the priest, eyes down. "What would the eleventh Commandment be?" asked Doone, scowling. "Why not: 'THOU SHALT SHUT UP AND LISTEN'" said the priest. "Ssh.

Colonel Freeleigh? said Douglas softly. There was something in his silence that made them all shut up their mouths. They approached, almost on tiptoe. Douglas, bent down, disengaged the phone from the old man's now quite cold fingers. Douglas lifted the receiver to his own ear, listened. Above the static he heard a strange, a far, a final sound. Two thousand miles away, the closing of a window.

You're not like the others. I've seen a few; I KNOW. When I talk, you look at me. When I said something about the moon, you looked at the moon, last night. The others would never do that. The others would walk off and leave me talking. Or threaten me. No one has time any more for anyone else.

I think of her hands but I don't see them doing anything at all. They just hang there at her sides or they lay there on her lap or there's a cigarette in them, but that's all.

Usted no es como los demás. He visto a unos cuantos. Lo sé. Cuando hablo usted me mira. Anoche, cuando dije algo sobre la luna, usted la miró. Los otros nunca harían eso. Los otros se alejarían, dejándome con la palabra en la boca. O me amenazarían. Nadie tiene ya tiempo para nadie.

When a man talks from the heart, in his moment of truth, he speaks poetry.

Or maybe he means in a richer world the begging population is melting away. But no to that too. So maybe, perhaps, he means there aren't many 'human beings' left to look, see, and understand well enough for one to ask and one to give. Everyone busy, running, jumping, there's no time to study one another. But I guess that's bilge and hogwash, slop and sentiment.

Oh, they don't miss me, she said. I'm anti-social, they say. I don't mix. It's so strange. I'm very social indeed. It all depends on what you mean by social, doesn't it? Social to me means talking about things like this. She rattled some chestnuts that had fallen off the tree in the front yard. Or talking about how strange the world is. Being with people is nice. But I don't think it's social to get a bunch of people together and then not let them talk, do you?

If you can't read and write you can't think. Your thoughts are dispersed if you don't know how to read and write. You've got to be able to look at your thoughts on paper and discover what a fool you were.

Then, of course, the telephone's such a convenient thing; it just sits there and demands you call someone who doesn't want to be called.

No front porches. My uncle says there used to be front porches. And people sat there sometimes at night, talking when they wanted to talk, rocking, and not talking when they didn't want to talk.

But my uncle says that was merely rationalizing it; the real reason, hidden underneath, might be they didn't want people sitting like that, doing nothing, rocking, talking; that was the wrong kind of social life. People talked too much. And they had time to think.

Now, with the message sent, the words said, she wanted to call them back, to censor, to rearrange them, to make a prettier sentence, a fairer explanation of her soul.

Dad read the stereo-newspapers inserted into the special hat you put on your head and which turned the microscopic page in front of the magnifying lens if you blinked three times in succession.

Radio. Television. Things began to have mass.' Montag sat in bed, not moving. 'And because they had mass, they became simpler,' said Beatty. 'Once, books appealed to a few people, here, there, everywhere. They could afford to be different. The world was roomy. But then the world got full of eyes and elbows and mouths. Double, triple, quadruple population. Films and radios, magazines, books leveled down to a sort of paste pudding norm, do you follow me?

me gusta observar a la gente. A veces, me paso el día entero en el metro, y los contemplo, los escucho. Sólo deseo saber qué son, qué desean y adónde van. (...) A veces me deslizo a hurtadillas y escucho en el metro. O en las cafeterías. Y, ¿sabe qué? - ¿Qué? - La gente no habla de nada.