Quotes About Conversation

They talked about the sorts of things they liked to talk about when there were no important decisions to be made and when the conversation could wander comfortably along uncluttered shores.

We are human and vulnerable, whatever our individual situation: The moon looks on them all The Healers and the brilliant talkers The eccentrics and the silent walkers The dumpy and the tall.

Bertie stared at his mother. She spoils things, he thought. All she ever does is spoil things. He had not started this conversation, and it was not his fault that they were now talking about Grey Owl. He sounded rather a nice man to Bertie. Any why should he not dress up in feathers and live in the forests if that was what he wanted to do? It was typical of his mother to try to spoil Grey Owl's fun.

Mma Ramotswe decided to go back into her office. There was a curious thing about male conversation that she had noticed - men often ended up poking fun at one another. Women did this only rarely, but men seemed to love insulting one another. It was very strange.

People did not spend enough time sitting and talking, she thought, and it was important that sitting and talking time be preserved.

Exactement," said Chloe. "And in view of this relationship I feel that I can speak to you directly—without sautéeing my words." "Mincing," said Paul. "Perhaps, but mince is so rare these days—metaphors must keep up to date." She paused. "Does anybody eat mince any longer, Paul? You should know, I suppose.

How often have I noticed or, indeed, listened to him? We talk, but do I actually listen, or is our conversation mainly a question of my waiting for him to stop and for it to be my turn to say something? For how many of us is that what conversation means - the setting up of our lines?

Angus thought about this. She was right. That was why our national conversation was so bad. Courtesy had been abandoned in favour of the put-down, the attack, the calculated sound bite. What sort of national conversation was that? The answer came to him immediately: none.

When meeting for lunch somebody one's uncomfortable with, it's important to have somewhere to look, don't you agree?

There is a marked decline in something we value. It's the destruction of civility, said the Duke. Twenty years ago, people may have had their differences of opinion - of course they did- but they did not abuse one another for it. They respected those with whom they disagreed. They spoke courteously.

Her tone was breezy. That, she thought, was the best way to talk to teenagers—about anything. You talked to them in that way, as if you were not expecting them to be listening to you—which, of course, they were not.

I'm glad you came," said Rob. "I like having lunch. I find it a much more sociable meal than dinner.

He's not too bad, actually. If you don't mind him going on about Byzantium, he can be quite nice.

That was always the case, she thought: the perfect riposte, the mot juste, inevitably occurred well after the event, and one could not really write to somebody and tell them what you would have said had you thought about it in time.

There are indeed ducks in Blackford Pond." "On it," muttered Isabel. "What?" "On the pond. There are ducks on the pond. There are fish in it." Even as she spoke, Isabel had no idea why she was being so pedantic, and

He could not imagine being interested in that way in somebody like Mma Mateleke; how would one ever get to plant a kiss on such a person if she was always talking? It would be difficult to get one's lips into contact with a mouth that was always opening and shutting to form words; that would surely be very distracting for a man, he thought, and might even discourage him to the point of disinclination, if that was the right word.

She decided to change the subject. Hooks were useful, but there was a limit to what one could say about them.

Her engagement? That is a long story." He laughed

James sniffed at the soup. "I love porcini to bits," he said. "They're the only mushroom I'd go out of my way for." "What about chanterelles?" said Matthew. "Porcini are delicious, but so are chanterelles.

Men talked about things that happened in the world, about events; women, by contrast, talked amongst themselves about being in the world. The difference was crucial.

Why not imagine a talk with a pumpkin? Why not imagine going off for a drive with a friendly pumpkin, a companion who would not, after all, answer back; who would agree with everything you said, and would at the end of the day appear on your plate as a final gesture of friendship?

Isabel smiled. She liked a conversation that went in odd directions; she liked the idea of playfulness in speech. People could be so depressingly literal. Jamie

Nobody challenged men openly, of course, but when women spoke now amongst themselves" (pg.33)

Angus smiled. "So nothing's certain, then?" "That's right," said Big Lou. "Except death and taxes," interjected Matthew. "Isn't that how the saying goes?" "They don't pay taxes in Italy," observed Angus. "I knew a painter in Naples who never paid taxes–ever. Very good painter too." "What happened to him?" asked Matthew. "He died," said Angus. 33.