Quotes About Conversation

I'm not a virgin, Jim," I repeated—as though the problem had been that he hadn't heard me correctly the first time. He sat up and stared ahead for a long time, collecting himself. Quietly, I put my shirt back on. This is not the sort of conversation that you want to be having while your boobs are hanging out.

He and I had been talking about jazz (which is to say that he had been talking about jazz, and I had been listening to him talk about jazz, because that is how you talk to a man about jazz)

This is what flirtation is in its purest form—a conversation held without words. Flirtation is a series of silent questions that one person asks another person with their eyes.

Very much of little consequence has transpired since last we met, my dear. Let's sit down for a drink and talk about none of it.

Goggie!" she exclaimed, holding both hands out urgently to Lad, who'd been dozing by the fire. "By all means," Michael replied amicably, as if he and Mary were having a conversation. "Let's bring the mutt with us, as well. He's almost presentable now that he stinks o' roses.

Good Lord, His Grace the Ass hiding in the bushes," Apollo muttered. "Whatever are you doing here?" "Ah, Kilbourne, you've regained your voice," Wakefield drawled. "Pity, but I presume my wife is thrilled. And you are?" He looked pointedly at Montgomery.

Temperance pursed her lips, her eyes firmly fixed on the growing mound of chopped turnip roots. "Do you think anyone really likes turnips?" "Temperance…" Temperance poked the tip of her knife into a white cube and held it up. "They are very filling, of course, but really, when was the last time you heard someone say, 'Oh, I'm so very fond of turnips'?

as if wherever he taught was a dining room instead of a classroom, and we were all eating at his table.

Prayer is allowing ourselves to be thirsty; it is a longing for something we just cannot seem to find. The Sufis say that our longing for God is God's longing for us. In this way, prayer is like a conversation between friends separated across time and space.

And so we were friends of a sort once more. We began to talk, stiltedly at first, but then with more ease. We had, after all, many interests in common. And if there was still a deep reserve, if fingers about to brush moved hastily apart, and if our eyes did not linger but met and winced away from hurt, outwardly, at least, there was tranquillity. I slept the better for it.

His lips parted, but long years of experience with Ramses, and to some extent, Emerson, had taught me how to turn a conversation into a monologue.

I am here on business." "Indeed," I said. "Indeed?" Emerson's echo held a questioning note; but in fact I had already deduced the nature of the lady's business. Emerson calls this jumping to conclusions. I call it simple logic.

All right, Vicky. . . . I may call you Vicky, mayn't I? No, I said.

for, failing to capture the attention of a waiter, I hooked one of them by the arm and ordered a whiskey and soda. The buzz of conversation

To each other, they talked at a gallop. Literature turned them on; their ideas flowed, ran back and forth like a current. (The Cousins)

They left off talking. They ceased to mention heaven. They were just cups of acceptance.

Why couldn't two unhappy people refresh each other on their way through this dusty business of life by a little talk—

Why couldn't two unhappy people refresh each other on their way through this dusty business of life by a little talk—real, natural talk, about what they felt, what they would have liked, what they still tried to hope?

The princess, however, most innocent of excellent women, had never spoken privately to Anna of Karlchen except once, when she inquired whether he were to have the best sheets on his bed, or the second best sheets; and Anna had replied, "The worst.

Why couldn't two unhappy people refresh each other on their way through this dusty business of life by a little talk—real, natural talk, about what they felt, what they would have liked, what they still tried to hope?

We are neither of us wise, but it is surprising how talking to a friend, even to a friend as unwise as yourself, clears up your brains and lets in new light.

It was a rather extraordinary conversation if you think about it -- both of us speaking in code. But not military code, not Intelligence or Resistance code -- just feminine code.

But he does insist on a conversation. Goddamn it! Why can't people just do what I want them to do and be gone? It's a worldwide conspiracy to make me be polite when I don't want to be.

I am a knitting fool. It's a quiet pastime, and a productive one. It enables one to join in the conversation or switch one's brain off, according to the interest or the excruciating dullness of what is being discussed. And the product does keep people warm and comfortable.