Quotes About Communication

As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.

The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.

A Loud Laugh Bespeaks a Vacant Mind!

Mend your speech a little, Lest you may mar your fortunes.

If you find him sad, say I am dancing. If in mirth, report that I am sudden sick.

Them that dally nicely with words may quickly make them wanton.

Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words' deceit.

Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, The which in every language I pronounce, Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.

The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness And time to speak it in. You rub the sore When you should bring the plaster.

CASSIO: Dost thou hear, my honest friend? CLOWN: No, I hear not your honest friend, I hear you. CASSIO: Prithee, keep up thy quillets.

Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft.

I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables.

I never yet did hear, That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear

I'll call for pen and ink and write my mind

I cannot speak your england.

Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear

Then others for breath of words respect, Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.

And these few precepts in thy memory Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar but by no means vulgar. Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel, But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade.

I have no words. My voice is in my sword.

It hurts not the tongue to give fair words.

If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks As though she bid me stay by her a week. If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day When I shall ask the banns, and when be married.

How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.

Here comes Monseiur Le Beau. Rosalind: With his mouth full of news. Celia: Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. Rosalind: Then shall we be news-crammed. Celia: All the better; we shall be the more marketable.

Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.