Quotes About Communication

The woman knelt by Peretur, close enough to touch her on the knee, though she did not.

It was best to approach royalty with answers, not questions.

Hild realised that every shape the man's body made refused the words, and the bard was nodding along. The bard had made the speech.

A man was speaking intensely, passionately, with a strong accent, spattering words about him like matted glass. She closed her eyes. She didn't understand most of it-heresy, apostasy, Gehenna-but he seemed upset about something Eorpwald had done.

Have you kissed anyone? Boldcloak? Your gemæcce?" Hild shook her head. "Well, perhaps they were frightened of kissing the king's seer. But I'm not. I know what you need.

Her mother's voice was rich and round with secrets.

She had no idea why it was so much harder for her to folk in Anglisc to anyone but Begu, it just was, though these last weeks she was learning how to let the words come. It helped if there was no weightiness behind them, no import; if they were only words with no life or death hanging in the balance.

My face is my most useful tool. I made it smile.

Most of the women were frank in their assessment of the men, gossiping about which make a good husband, which good sport. Hild mostly listened to the birds.

There was no wind in the hall, no fly to land on Gwenhwyfar's hand and tell Peretur all she needed-and she could read nothing in the queen's carefully judged smile.

Hild nodded, but couldn't say anything. Soft, shocking echoes lapped at her bones and squeezed her insides. Gwladus kept stroking her belly and the echoes began to run into one another like ripples on a pond, and then slowly calmed.

We could acknowledge it between us as long as it remained unspoken.

Speaking straight felt different. She found she liked it.

We shook hands. My mother showed me a dozen different handshakes. This is the one that means I don't think you're worth my attention: a quick shake, with her hand already sliding from mine before it was properly finished. This one shows I hold you in great contempt: a snakelike up and down, bending at the wrist, fingers stiff as though she couldn't wait to shake off my sweat. There were others. Cordova was a mixture of reserve and haste: fast, light, and whippy.

They took a moment, the grown man in clothes foreign to him and the young girl in splendour she could barely carry, and understood each other. He laughed.

The gesture, rather than the word, is the true transmitter of traditions.

Unnütz, jemandem einen Gedanken erklären zu wollen, dem eine Anspielung nicht genügt.

Voor de democraat staat vrijheid niet gelijk aan alles kunnen zeggen wat je denkt, maar aan niet over alles hoeven nadenken wat je zegt.

Cambiano meno gli uomini le idee che le idee i loro travestimenti. Nel corso dei secoli dialogano le stesse voci.

Making us feel intelligent is how nature notifies us that we are saying something stupid.

Las noticias son el substituto de las verdades.

La oscuridad de un texto no es defecto cuando lo que dice sólo puede decirse oscuramente.

Triviality is the price of communication.

Men disagree less because they think differently than because they do not think.