Quotes About Language

How does she speak our language?" Cricket breathed. "Is it magic that we understand her? Is she a magic superpowered dragon like Clearsight? Oh my gosh, can you see the future?" "I can see a future," Tsunami answered. "One where it takes me the next three years to answer all your questions." "REALLY?" Cricket gasped.

My brain words ~Luna Words off my head. ~Swordtail

Why are we all — AAAAAAAABGLBGLBE!

scavengers who could speak the language of dragons,

Mshish vemmy shmewy," Clay mumbled around the fruit in his jaws.

I don't discuss 'issues' with anyone. And it's a vile, infantile word, you'd be wise to eliminate it from your slim vocabulary.

He that would make a pun would pick a pocket.

It occurred to him that she had spent these last few years entirely among men, seeing no women apart from a few like Louisa Wogan; she spoke rather as men, and somewhat raffish, moneyed, loose-living men, speak when they are alone together. 'She has forgotten the distinction between what can and what cannot be said,' he reflected. 'A few more years of this company, and she would not scruple to fart.

The Navy speaks in symbols, and you may suit what meaning you choose to the words.

Stephen, what is the French for a double sister-block, coaked? With a pair of them and a proper hold-fast, I could raise the Temple.' 'A double sister-block, coaked? The Dear alone can tell. I do not even know what it is in English.

Please tell the Senhor that I have never eaten better porco in my life,' said Jack, holding up a bare white bone. Jack had a variety of little imbecilities, but none irritated Stephen more than his way of tossing in the odd word or two of a foreign language.

What are bashed neeps? Neeps hackit with balmagowry.

I am heartily sorry for it, he being a most capable, obliging man, speaking all the languages of the Levant and excellent English too - might have built the Tower of Babel singlehanded.

And I am both appalled and put off by those who use "civilians" to describe citizens. All of us, police and non-police, are civilians. Unless you are subject to the Uniform Code of Military Justice, i.e., in the armed forces, you are a civilian. Soap box mode off.)

May Allah bless you. Or had she said: May Allah burn you? He was not sure which: the two Arabic words sounded so much alike.

Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Yes, language. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss.

rush of pine scent (once upon a time), the unlicensed conviction there ought to be another way of saying this.

Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Yes, language. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss. But it had to go through its own lack of answers, through terrifying silence, through the thousand darknesses of murderous speech. It went through. It gave me no words for what was happening, but went through it. Went through and could resurface, 'enriched' by it all.

And the too much of my speaking: heaped up round the little crystal dressed in the style of your silence.

With wine and being lost, with less and less of both: I rode through the snow, do you read me I rode God far--I rode God near, he sang, it was our last ride over the hurdled humans. They cowered when they heard us overhead, they wrote, they lied our neighing into one of their image-ridden languages.

Reachable, near and not lost, there remained in the midst of the losses this one thing: language. It, the language, remained, not lost, yes, in spite of everything. But it had to pass through its own answerlessness, pass through frightful muting, pass through the thousand darknesses of deathbringing speech. It passed through and gave back no words for that which happened; yet it passed through this happening. Passed through and could come to light again, "enriched" by all this.

A poem, as a manifestation of language and thus essentially dialogue, can be a message in a bottle, sent out in the –not always greatly hopeful-belief that somewhere and sometime it could wash up on land, on heartland perhaps. Poems in this sense too are under way: they are making toward something. Toward what? Toward something standing open, occupiable, perhaps toward an addressable Thou, toward an addressable reality.

Rumpty! he muttered, which was very rude if you were one of the few people in the universe who understood what it meant.

the Army saw slang as a morale builder no matter how cynical it became.