Quotes About Communication

A man is already halfway in love with any woman who listens to him." —Brendan Francis

People put up walls. Not to keep others out, but to see who cares enough to break them down." —Socrates

What is writing but an expression of my own life?

Peg, are you goin' to throw me down, too?" "Mr. Arthurs! I—I—

he set out for Berkeley County, Virginia, to tell his people of the magnificent country he had discovered.

Oh, Glenn!--forgive--me! she faltered. I was only--talking. What do I know? Oh, I am blind--blind and little!

Cum e posibil s? fie mai uÈ™or de vorbit cu un str?in (...), È™i acesta e f?r? îndoial? paradoxul cel mai frecvent È™i mai revolt?tor al vieÈ›ii în doi, c? ne apropiem ca s? ne dep?rt?m.

In today's globalized and interconnected world, it is foolish to imagine that anything can be studied in isolation.

Pop fiction falls between the private and personal world of the home and the outside world of the publishers, studios, record labels and broadcasters, massive corporations which threaten to turn the most fundamental quality of human beings – our unending love of communication – into big business and, at its worst, propaganda.

we spend one-third of our lives immersed in the media. Our abilities to speak, think, form relationships with others, even our dreams and our own sense of identity are now shaped by the media. So, studying the media is studying ourselves as social creatures.

There's always truth in seduction. That's why it works.

It was not death she feared. It was misunderstanding.

Her old thoughts were going to come in handy now, but new words would have to be made and said to fit them.

You heard me. You ain't blind.

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside yo. —Zora Neale Hurston, Dust Tracks On the Road (NOT Maya Angelou, NOT I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings)

When the people sat around on the porch and passed around the pictures of their thoughts for the others to look at and see, it was nice. The fact that the thought pictures were always crayon enlargements of life made it even nicer to listen to.

Everytime Ah see uh patch uh roses uh somethin' oversportin' theyselves makin' out they pretty, Ah tell 'em 'Ah want yuh tuh see mah Janie sometime.' You must let de flowers see yuh sometimes, heah, Janie?

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you. (NOT Maya Angelou, NOT I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings)

At the bottom in the gut of jazz if you listen closely you can hear—no matter how complexly, obliquely, mysteriously stylized—somebody talking, crying, growling, singing, farting, praying, stomping, voicing in all those modes through which our bodies communicate some tale about how it feels to be here on earth or leaving, or about the sweet pain of hanging on between the coming and going.

She must talk to a man who was ten immensities away.

Long before the year was up, Janie noticed that her husband had stopped talkin to he rin rhymes.

He has only heard what I felt.

Mouths don't empty themselves unless ears are sympathetic and knowing.

He done taught me de maiden language all over.