Quotes About Communication

People leave for a reason. They tell you what it is. They offer the right of reply. They do not just leave. No, that is childish. That is the only absurd hypothesis.

Et elle m'a répondu textuellement : « Il faut toujours dire une chose comme si on était en train de la composer soi-même. » Si vous y réfléchissez c'est monumental, cette réponse !

Love? I make it often, but I never talk about it.

There is nothing like desire for preventing the thing one says from bearing any resemblance to what one has in one's mind.

If the conversations of two people bound by a tie of intimacy are full of lies, these crop up no less spontaneously in the conversations that a third person holds with a lover about the person with whom the latter is in love, whatever the sex of that person.

My mother, torn between her love for my father and her hope that I might turn out to have brains, preserved an impartiality which she expressed by silence.

nous ne connaissons jamais que les passions des autres, et que ce que nous arrivons à savoir des nôtres, ce n'est que d'eux que nous avons pu l'apprendre.

That is rather Pelléas, too," I suggested to Mme de Cambremer-Legrandin. "You know the scene I mean." "Of course I do" was what she said; but "I haven't the faintest idea" was the message proclaimed by her voice and features, which did not mould themselves to the shape of any recollection, and by her smile, which floated in the air, without support.

She refrained from uttering it? So at least I long believed, for at that time I still supposed that it was by means of words that one communicated the truth to others.

When we are nice to others, we generally lose all claim to their respect.

A verdade que depositamos nas palavras não abre caminho diretamente, não tem irresistível evidência. Cumpre que decorra o tempo necessário para que se possa formar no interlocutor uma verdade da mesma espécie. E então o adversário político, que, apesar de raciocínios e provas, considerava traidor ao sectário da doutrina oposta, chega a compartilhar das detestadas convicções quando já não interessam àquele que antes tentava inutilmente difundi-las.

A necessidade de falar impede não só de escutar mas também de ver, e nesse caso a ausência de qualquer descrição do meio exterior é já uma descrição de um estado interno.

I tried to speak to Mamma but my voice broke, and, bursting into tears, I stayed for a long time, my head on her shoulder, crying, tasting, accepting, relishing my grief, now that I knew that it had departed from my life, as we like to exalt ourselves by forming virtuous plans which circumstances do not permit us to put into execution.

?nsan bir sebep varsa gider. Gidece?ini söyler. Kar??s?ndakine cevap hakk? tan?r. Öyle çekip gidilmez.

Ah! there is a man who justifies the wit who insisted that one ought never to know an author except through his books.

And Labruyère tells us that that is everything. 'To be with the people one loves, to speak to them, not to speak to them, it is all the same.' He is right; that is the only form of happiness

My ——" or "My dearest ——" followed by my Christian name, which, if we give the narrator the same name as the author of this book, would be 'My Marcel,' or 'My dearest Marcel.' After this I would never allow my relatives, by calling me 'dearest,' to rob of their priceless uniqueness the delicious words that Albertine uttered to me

the knowledge that the hour was approaching when her husband ought to arrive without knowing whether or not he would send one of those telegrams of which the model had been wittily invented by M. de Guermantes: "Impossible to come, lie follows," paled her cheeks and ringed her eyes.

She had guessed that Françoise was not over-fond of her son-in-law, and that he spoiled the pleasure she found in visiting her daughter, as the two could not talk so freely when he was there. And so one day, when Françoise was going to their house, some miles from Combray, Mamma said to her, with a smile: "Tell me, Françoise, if Julien has had to go away, and you have Marguerite to yourself all day, you will be very sorry,

As masks are the sign that there are faces, words are the sign that there are things. And these things are the sign of the incomprehensible.

Imagine: If a man who shakes hands up and down meets a man who shakes hands side to side, what will happen? Nathan looked perplexed but he extended his hand all the same. As they shook, their clasped hands went round and round in circles.

Literature itself is a species of code. You line up symbols and create a simulacrum of life.

Because before you acquired language, you didn't exist.

Por que sera que las palabras son para los amantes y los silencios para los esposos?