Quotes About Communication

Nowadays, a man ill at ease in his surroundings will pull out his phone, request the Wi-Fi password, and rejoin a virtual sphere where his identity is instantly reaffirmed. Let us all take a moment to consider deeply what isolation was customary before these times arrived!

Das mine!' protested Ava, Bennie's daughter, affirming Alex's recent theory that language acquisition involved a phase of speaking German. She snatched a plastic skillet away from his own daughter, Cara-Ann, who lurched after it, roaring, 'Mine pot! Mine pot!

He gestured at the girl I'd been dealing with, whose carefree smile could be roughly translated as: 'He's officially not my problem anymore.' I gave her a wink whose exact translation was: 'Don't be so sure, darling.

You know the expression," Eddie said. " 'Don't write if you can talk, and don't talk if you can nod.' " Styles was delighted. "A mick said that." Eddie winked.

Social media was dead, everyone agreed; self-representations were inherently narcissistic or propagandic or both, and grossly inauthentic.

It had been years since she'd fabricated a story from whole cloth. It brought a sense of returning to an earlier time when she was questioned more often and had fewer evasions at her disposal. Besides, she thought, looking into Rose's relieved and joyful face, people practically told you the lies they wanted to hear.

Kind of like saying 'no offense' when you've just said something offensive?

Well, I'm the guy talking. Someone's always doing the talking, just a lot of times you don't know who it is or what their reasons are.

But my problem is the same one had by everyone who gathers information. What to do with it? How to sort and shape and use it? How to keep from drowning in it? Not every story needs to be told.

My point is, screw the machines. Throw them away. Put some faith in that brain of yours. My brain can't make a phone call. Sure it can. You can talk to anyone you want.

Years ago, when Sasha and I were struggling with Lincoln, my habit of "fleeing" to my clinic almost cost me my marriage. Since then, I've subjected my impulses to leave for work to a three-step protocol: 1) Is it necessary that I go at this moment? 2) Is there something at home that I want to avoid? 3) Will I be letting anyone down by leaving right now?

She wanted to tell him, to have it out in the open. But that wasn't true—she dreaded telling him. What she wanted was already to have told him.

Say, I'd like to speak with your pa this afternoon, if he's a minute to spare." "You know where to look." "Why don't I stop by around three." This plan, so casually made that it hardly qualified as an appointment, could not have been more ironclad had it been typed into an executive diary by a secretarial school graduate fluent in stenography

Her mother glanced at her. "I don't think about him, Anna. That's the truth." "What do you think about?" A spot of red had appeared on each of her mother's cheeks. She was angry. Anna was, too, and the anger strengthened her, as if she were bracing herself against it. "You know perfectly well what I think about," her mother said.

16 If your Designated Mate leaves your company a second time, don't follow him. Deactivate your ear mic and resume your "nap." A moment of repose is a good time to reassure your loved ones. Nuanced communication is too easily monitored by the enemy.

Sasha tipped back her head to look at him. She made a point of doing this now and then, just to remind Coz that she wasn't an idiot—she knew the question had a right answer. She and Coz were collaborators, writing a story whose end had already been determined: she would get well.

Never part with a fact unless you've no choice.

In a mere twenty minutes, they'd blown past the desired point of meaningful-connection-through-shared-experience into the less appealing state of knowing-each-other-too-well.

Mr. Kinghorn injected into Alfred's next several inhalations: "Sir, you've made your racket for going on two minutes now… I'll allow you thirty more seconds… at which point you'll either have to stop hollering or leave my bus… Am I making myself clear?

Even smiling, there's no hope for Marty's face. But I'm worried he might think the same of me, so I don't smile back.

Maybe we shared an impatience with small talk, being a heart surgeon and a drug counselor. The body and its needs: the thing itself.

I want words that are still alive, that have a pulse. Hot words, people! Give me the bullet, not the casing — fire it right in my chest. I'll die gladly for some fresh language.

There are so many ways to go wrong. All we've got are metaphors, and they're never exactly right. You can never just Say. The. Thing.

Everybody sounds stoned, because they're e-mailing people the whole time they're talking to you.