Some People Talk Too Much Quotes

Some people talk too much without saying a lot. ~ Mokokoma Mokhonoana

Some people talk in a telephone
And some people talk in a hall;
Some people talk in a whisper,
And some people talk in a drawl;
And some people talk-and-talk-and-talk-and-talk-and-talk
And Never say anything at all. ~ Walter R. Brooks

I couldn't believe his arrogance. I turned away hoping to ignore him enough so he'd just leave.
"Just give me five minutes," came Flynn's muffled voice through the closed window.
I ignored him. He'd caused me way too much trouble.
"Mercy, just crack the window so we can talk."
I did and immediately said, "You are a solipsistic obdurate asshole." Then I rolled the window back up to continue to ignore him.
"What the hell? You and these words," he muttered loud enough they came clearly through the closed window. ~ Shannon Dermott

Alone Together
I want us to be together,
but I want to stay connected.
I want your attention,
but I want to manage mine,
opting in and opting out,
sponging up what's relevant,
discarding the expendable.
I can't get enough of you,
not too close, not too far,
at a manageable distance,
at a convenient time.
Let me tell you how much I loveyou,
let me count the ways,
by text, by email, by post, by Tweet.
If I've said too much
I can edit.
If I've show myself too vulnerable
I can delete.
If I'm at a loss for words
I can Google.
Come to think of it,
I'd much rather text than talk.
Come to think of it
you're dispensable too.
I just need the illusion of love,
without all its messy demands,
without its unpredictability,
without the risk.
I just need Facebook
because nothing beats being
alone
together. ~ Beryl Dov

If you were to gather all the minutes wasted on insignificant, immaterial yik yak spent throughout the day and add them up, how much misspent time do you think you'd have? One hour? Two hours? Consider the sunk cost on that. It's unacceptable. One minute wasted is one minute too much. ~ Ari Gold

Claire tipped her head back, and this time he found her lips. It was, she thought, supposed to be a fast and sweet little kiss, but somehow it slowed down, got warmer and deeper. His lips were damp and soft as silk, and that was such a contrast to the hard lines of his body pressed against her. The strength of his hands sliding around her waist and pulling her even closer. She heard him growl low in his throat, a wild and hungry sound that made her go weak and faint.
He broke the kiss and leaned against her, breathing hard. "Good morning to you too. Man, I just can't stay mad when you do that."
"Do what?" she asked innocently. She didn't feel innocent. She also didn't feel sixteen-nearly-seventeen, not at all. Shane always made her feel older. Much older. Ready for anything. It was a good thing Shane wasn't as dumb as her hormones seemed to be.
"Unless you want to stay home and cut class, we don't really have time to talk about it," he said, and waggled his eyebrows. "So. Wanna cut class and make out? ~ Rachel Caine

I'm afraid I talk a lot, too much, perhaps. I should have been a lawyer or a college professor or a windy politician, though I'm glad I am not any of these. ~ Tom Glazer

(Tuesday, 21 April 1964)
They needn't talk to me about loneliness. I've walked too many miles of pavement. I've scanned so many faces - I've looked with so much furtive hope, but it's never right. Only in my imagination. There, I have marvellous conversations with someone attractive, slow, charmingly phlegmatic & naturally reticent, and with me, he becomes articulate. But in fact, I take a sleeping pill & tell myself to shut up. ~ Kenneth Williams

You got no one, then?' she asked.
'No one but enemies.'
'Why aren't you fighting them?'
'Fighting? It's got me everything I have.' And he held his big empty hands up to show her. 'Nothing but an evil reputation and an awful lot of men with a burning need to kill me. Fighting? Hah! The better you are at it, the worse off it leaves you. I've settled some scores, and that can feel grand, but the feeling don't last long. Vengeance won't keep you warm nights, and that's a fact. Overrated. Won't do on its own. You need something else.'
Ferro shook her head. 'You expect too much out of life, pink.'
He grinned. 'And here was me thinking you expect too little.'
'Expect nothing and you won't be disappointed.'
'Expect nothing and you'll get nothing.'
Ferro scowled at him. That was the thing about talk. Somehow it always took her where she did not want to go. Lack of practice, maybe. ~ Joe Abercrombie

I want to talk to you, and I want you to talk to me. I want to touch you, and I want you to touch me too. I want to hold you." I gave up hiding the tears, and when I blinked they ran down my cheeks. "I won't look for pain from another man's fist to release me from what hurts so much in my head. I'll tell you what hurts instead. I won't use sex with other women to hide from my pain. But I'll give it to you if it's what you need from me."
I walked up to her, and she just watched me. Her body looked rigid with tension, and I could see the tendons in her neck strained tight. I stood just in front of her, not willing to touch her until she gave me permission.
"I want all of you, regardless of the fact I deserve nothing from you. Things can't go on this way with us. It's tearing me apart. I put myself in your life, because I wanted to see who you were now." I shook my head as I stared off beside us for a moment. "I didn't realize it would be so … powerful. Powerful enough I want to give it the chance to rewrite the direction of my life. ~ Elizabeth Finn

Silence can answer the question words may fail to answer. If you want to know what silence can do, keep silence! ~ Ernest Agyemang Yeboah

How in hell did those bombers get up there every single second of our lives! Why doesn't someone want to talk about it! We've started and won two atomic wars since 2022! Is it because we're having so much fun at home we've forgotten the world? Is it because we're so rich and the rest of the world's so poor and we just don't care if they are? I've heard rumors; the world is starving, but we're well fed. Is it true, the world works hard and we play? Is that why we're hated so much? I've heard the rumors about hate too, once in a long while, over the years. Do you know why? I don't, that's sure! Maybe the books can get us half out of the cave. They just might stop us from making the same damn insane mistakes! ~ Ray Bradbury

Be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind. Talk health, happiness, and prosperity to every person you meet. Make all your friends feel there is something special in them. Look at the sunny side of everything. Think only the best, be as enthusiastic about the success of others as you are about your own.
Forget the mistakes of the past and press on to the greater achievements of the future. Give everyone a smile. Spend so much time improving yourself that you have no time left to criticize others. Be too big for worry and too noble for anger. ~ Norman Vincent Peale

There is far too much talk of love and grief benumbing the faculties, turning the hair gray, and destroying a man's interest in his work. Grief has made many a man look younger. ~ William McFee

Sometimes when I'm nervous I talk too much and it's just a bad case of word vomit. ~ Ella Maise

Though our castes and institutions are apparently linked with our religion, they are not so. These institutions have been necessary to protect us as a nation, and when this necessity for self-preservation will no more exist, they will die a natural death. But the older I grow, the better I seem to think of these time-honored institutions of India. There was a time when I used to think that many of them were useless and worthless; but the older I grew, the more I seem to feel a diffidence in cursing any one of them, for each one of them is the embodiment of the experience of centuries. A child of but yesterday, destined to die the day after tomorrow, comes to me and asks me to change all my plans; and if I hear the advice of that baby and change all my surroundings according to his ideas, I myself should be a fool, and no one else. Much of the advice that is coming to us from different countries is similar to this. Tell these wiseacres: "I will hear you when you have made a society yourselves. You cannot hold on to one idea for two days, you quarrel and fail; you are born like moths in the spring and die like them in five minutes. You come up like bubbles and burst like bubbles too. First form a stable society like ours. First make laws and institutions that remain undiminished in their power through scores of centuries. Then will be the time to talk on the subject with you, but till then, my friend, you are only a giddy child. ~ Swami Vivekananda

After a while, Hannah said, "I heard Papa and Mama talking last night. Mama told Papa she thinks John Larkin is fond of me."
To my annoyance, a little smile danced across her face. "I'm fond of John too," she admitted, "but Papa--"
Hannah bit her lip and frowned. "Papa said a girl with my notions will never find a husband. He told Mama I'd end up an old-maid suffragette. Those were his very words, Andrew."
Forgetting everything except making her happy, I said, "No matter what Papa thinks, you'll marry John. What's more, women will get the vote and drive cars and do everything men do, even wear trousers and run for president."
Hannah sucked in her breath. "The way you talk, Andrew. I could swear you've been looking in a crystal ball."
Clapping my hand over my mouth, I stared at her. Whatever had made me say so much? I didn't even want to think about her marrying John, and here I'd gone and told her she would, as well as revealing a bunch of other stuff she shouldn't know.
"Do you see anything else in my future?" Hannah was leaning toward me, her face inches from mine, gazing into my eyes, her lips slightly parted. "Will John and I be happy? Will we have lots of children? Will we live a long, long time?"
I tightened my grip on the branch. I was drowning, losing my identity, speaking words that made no sense. "You'll be old when I'm young," I whispered, "but I'll remember, I'll never forget, I'll always love--"
"What are you talking about? ~ Mary Downing Hahn

Annabeth Thalia and I hadn't seen each other in months but between
the blizzard and the thought of what we were about to do we were too nervous to talk much.
Except for my mom. She talks more when she's nervous. By the time we finally got to Westover Hall it was getting dark and she'd told Annabeth and Thalia every embarrassing baby story there was to tell about me. ~ Rick Riordan

It was a lot easier to talk to her with my eyes closed, too. Not so much of a pissing contest. ~ Maggie Stiefvater

The problem is, I don't think I've got too much to offer at the minute. I'm busy working on myself. This sounds like real therapy talk, but it's like, you've got to be happy with yourself before you can go out and get yourself a girl. ~ Robbie Williams

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relatio ~ Bob Moorehead

My view of the charity world is that compared with business, there is too much talk, way too many meetings and expert panels and blue-ribbon commissions, and not enough action. Or as an Australian friend of mine once opined: "Sometimes you just have to have a go and get on with it, mate!". ~ John Wood

She heard him close the door. "I was going to impress you with my romantic eloquence, of course. I'd thought to wax philosophical about the beauty of your brow."
Lucy blinked. "My brow?"
"Mmm. Have I told you that your brow intimidates me?" She felt his warmth at her back as he moved behind her, but he didn't touch her. "It's so smooth and white and broad, and ends with your straight, knowing eyebrows, like a statue of Athena pronouncing judgment. If the warrior goddess had a brow like yours, it is no wonder the ancients worshiped and feared her."
"Blather," she murmured.
"Blather, indeed. Blather is all I am, after all."
She frowned and turned to contradict him, but he moved with her so that she couldn't quite catch sight of his face.
"I am the duke of nonsense," he whispered in her ear. "The king of farce, the emperor of emptiness."
Did he really see himself so? "But - "
"Blathering is what I do best," he said, still unseen. "I'd like to blather about your golden eyes and ruby lips."
"Simon - "
"The perfect curve of your cheek," he murmured close.
She gasped as his breath stirred the hair at her neck. He was distracting her with lovemaking. And it was working. "What a lot of talk."
"I do talk too much. It's a weakness you'll have to bear in your husband." His voice was next to her ear. "But I'd have to spend quite a bit of time outlining the shape of your mouth, its
softness and the warmth within.

- ~ Elizabeth Hoyt

On the other hand, I am not a liberal. The notion that man is a rational creature who arrives at reasonable solutions to knotty problems is much in doubt as far as I'm concerned. Liberalism depends all too much on having an optimistic view of human nature. But the history of the 20th century has not exactly fortified that notion. Moreover, liberalism also depends too much upon reason rather than any appreciation of mystery. If you start to talk about God with the average good liberal, he looks at you as if you are more than a little off. In that sense, since I happen to be - I hate to use the word religious, there are so many heavy dull connotations, so many pious self-seeking aspects - but I do believe there is a Creator who is active in human affairs and is endangered. I also believe there is a Devil who is equally active in our existence (and is all too often successful). So, I can hardly be a liberal. God is bad enough for them, but talk about the devil, and the liberal's mind is blown. He is consorting with a fellow who is irrational if not insane. That is the end of real conversation. ~ Norman Mailer

Ask others about themselves, at the same time, be on guard not to talk too much about yourself. ~ Mortimer Adler

Quince leans in over the map, studying, and I think he's going to ask me something about the kingdoms or my plan or Daddy's trident.
Instead, without taking his eyes off the map, he asks, "What happens if I fail?"

"What?" I whisper.

"If I don't pass the three tests," he says. "What's the consequence?"

I suck in a shaky breath. This is the part I didn't want to talk about, the part I hoped he wouldn't ask about. But I guess he's too clever - or has learned too much about how mer-world magic works - to assume there won't be a price.

There is, and it's a big one.

"If you fail," I say, keeping my voice steady, "then you are banished from the water forever."

He lifts his Caribbean-blue eyes to stare into mine. "And?"

"And?" I echo.

"I know that can't be it," he says. "Nothing in your world is ever that simple."

A part of my heart breaks when he calls it my world. I want it to feel like his world, too. But now isn't the time. He's right; there's more to the consequence of failure than him being exiled.

"And . . . ," I say, wishing I didn't have to tell him this, "I'll be banished from land." I swallow hard. "Forever."

He stares into my eyes, unblinking, and I can't read any sort of reaction. His mind is racing, I'm sure, but everything on the outside is a stone facade.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he says, "Then I won't fail. ~ Tera Lynn Childs

I was unhappy there and going through a rough transition, so I was desperate for any friend I could find that I could talk to. I thought that's what he was. We had this secret from my mom, who I didn't like much at the time. It was a harmless secret, so I didn't feel bad about it. All we did was go to the movies and hang out doing fun things all day. It wasn't until much later that the warning signs began, but I was still too young and stupid to see them for what they were at the time. Basically, he was patient as he built up the trust between us. He became a close friend and convinced me that he was on my side somehow. He took total advantage of my ignorance and totally betrayed me a few years later, when he slept with me. After my mom found out, she went psychotic and all she gave a fuck about was what had been done to her. She didn't care about anything except for how hurt she was by what had happened. She blamed me and him equally, telling me that sixteen years old was old enough to know better. Even though I never initiated a goddamn thing with him, and never would have. Even though it happened in the apartment she and I had gotten together, that he was not supposed to be staying in. ~ Ashly Lorenzana

She says suicide is for cowards. This is an uglynasty Momside. She bought a book about it. Tough love. Sour sugar. Barbed velvet. Silent talk. She leaves the book on the back of the toilet to educate me. She has figured out that I don't say too much. It bugs her. ~ Laurie Halse Anderson

One fine day you decide to talk less and less about the things you care most about, and when you have to say something, it costs you an effort . . . You're good and sick of hearing yourself talk . . . you abridge . . . You give up … For thirty years you've been talking . . . You don't care about being right anymore. You even lose your desire to keep hold of the small place you'd reserved yourself among the pleasures of life . . . You're fed up … From that time on you're content to eat a little something, cadge a little warmth, and sleep as much as possible on the road to nowhere. To rekindle your interest, you'd have to think up some new grimaces to put on in the presence of others . . . But you no longer have the strength to renew your repertory. You stammer. Sure, you still look for excuses for hanging around with the boys, but death is there too, stinking, right beside you, it's there the whole time, less mysterious than a game of poker. The only thing you continue to value is petty regrets, like not finding time to run out to Bois-Colombes to see your uncle while he was still alive, the one whose little song died forever one afternoon in February. That horrible little regret is all we have left of life, we've vomited up the rest along the way, with a good deal of effort and misery. We're nothing now but an old lamppost with memories on a street where hardly anyone passes anymore. ~ Louis Ferdinand Celine

Here's the deal: no touching, no hand-holding, no flirting, no sexy talk, no dancing, and absolutely no kissy face."

"You didn't mention no sex, did you? I might have you on a technicality."


"You and me alone, eating, talking, maybe even having a good time. Yeah, it might be a date."


"I've seen what's in your pantry, and I respect my arteries too much to indulge."

"That's the thing about snakes - even if they're harmless, they look like such badasses it doesn't really matter."

"You're lying. You're really wearing a pair of granny panties. ~ Wendy Byrne

I think the fans, if you want to actually learn about us, I think you have to go way more intricate than just what you see on TV, because that's whatever they want to report. But it's just so much going on, and when you talk about being in our world you have to understand we're individuals too. We're not just athletes. No, we're fathers, we're sons. So when you put us through a job shortage you take away everything that we built. ~ Ray Lewis

Talking is always positive. That's why I talk too much. ~ Louis C.K.

I have friends who are still looking, friends who are married, and friends who are divorced. The difference, I've come to see, is largely due to chance, rather than character. Because after all those years of self-doubt, my late-marrying friends and I found men who love us even though we're still cranky and neurotic, even though we still haven't got our careers together, even though we sometimes talk too loud or drink too much or swear at the TV when the news is on. We have gray hairs and unfashionable clothes and bad attitudes. They love us anyway.

What's wrong with me? What's wrong with any of us? If we're honest, the answer probably is 'plenty.' But that's not the point. ~ Sara Eckel

One advantage to being a despised species is that you have freedom, freedom to be any crazy thing you want. If you listen to a group of housewives talk, you'll hear a lot of nonsense, some of it really crazy. This comes, I think, from being alone so much, and pursuing your own odd train of thought without impediment, which some call discipline. The result is craziness, but also brilliance. Ordinary women come out with the damnedest truth. You ignore them at your own risk. And they are permitted to go on making wild statements without being put in one kind of jail or another (some of them, anyway) because everyone knows they're crazy and powerless too. If a woman is religious or earthy, passive or wildly assertive, loving or hating, she doesn't get much more flak than if she isn't: her choices lie between being castigated as a ball and chain or as a whore. ~ Marilyn French

Sir Ken Robinson's 2008 talk on educational reform - entitled "Do Schools Kill Creativity?" - has now been viewed more than 4 million times. In it Robinson cites the fact that children's scores on standard tests of creativity decline as they grow older and advance through the educational system. He concludes that children start out as curious, creative individuals but are made duller by factory-style schools that spend too much time teaching children academic facts and not enough helping them express themselves. Sir Ken clearly cares greatly about the well-being of children, and he is a superb storyteller, but his arguments about creativity, though beguilingly made, are almost entirely baseless. ~ Ian Leslie

Hey, sweetheart. All alone in this palace?"

She arched a brow when she felt the hand on her bottom and turned her head slowly to stare at McNab.

He went red, then white, then red again. "Christ! Lieutenant. Sir."

"Your hand's on my ass, McNab. I don't think you want it to be there."

He snatched it away as if scorched. "God. Man. Shit. Beg your pardon. I didn't recognize you. I mean..." He jammed the hand he sincerely hoped she'd allow him to keep in his pocket. "I didn't know it was you. I thought... You look..." Words failed him.

"I believe Detective McNab is trying to compliment you, Eve." Roarke slipped up beside them and, because it was too much to resist, stared hard into McNab's panicked eyes. "Weren't you, Ian?"

"Yeah. That is..."

"And if I believed he'd realized it was your ass he was fondling, I'd just have to kill him. Right here." Roarke reached out and flicked at the strings of McNab's snazzy red tie. "Right now."

"Oh, I'd have already taken care of that myself," Eve said dryly. "You look like you could use a drink,Detective."

"Yes, sir. I could."

"Roarke, why don't you take care of him? Mira just came in. I want to talk to her."

"Delighted." Roarke draped an arm around McNab's shoulder and squeezed just a little harder than comfort allowed. ~ J.D. Robb

All the visitors do make an effort to look their best and it's very tender, it's sweet as hell, the way the women wear their prettiest everything, I mean the old ones and the really poor ones too, they make the dearest effort to look nice and smell nice too, and I love them for it. I love the kids too, especially the colored ones. I mean the kids the wives bring. It should be sad, seeing the kids there, but it isn't, they have ribbons in their hair and lots of shine on their shoes, you'd think there was going to be ice cream; and sometimes that's what it's like in the visitors' room, a party. Anyway, it's not like the movies: you know, grim whisperings through a grille. There isn't any grille, just a counter between you and them, and the kids can stand on it to be hugged; all you have to do to kiss somebody is lean across. What I like most, they're so happy to see each other, they've saved up so much to talk about, it isn't possible to be dull, they keep laughing and holding hands. It's different afterwards," she said. "I see them on the train. They sit so quiet watching the river go by. ~ Truman Capote

Desperately trying to remember her manners, she curtseyed and murmured, "Your Grace."
The smile lines at his eyes deepened subtly. "You appear to be in need of rescue. Why don't you come inside with me, away from this riffraff? The duchess is eager to meet you." As Pandora hesitated, thoroughly intimidated, he assured her. "I'm quite trustworthy. In fact, I'm very nearly an angel. You'll come to love me in no time."
"Take heed," Lord St. Vincent advised Pandora sardonically, fastening the loose sides of his vest. "My father is the pied piper of gullible women."
"That's not true," the duke said, "The non-gullible ones follow me as well."
Pandora couldn't help chuckling. She looked up into silvery-blue eyes lit with sparks of humor and playfulness. There was something reassuring about his presence, the sense of a man who truly liked women.
When she and Cassandra were children, they had fantasized about a handsome father who would lavish them with affection and advice, and spoil them just a little, but not too much. A father who might have let them stand on his feet to dance. This man looked very much like the one Pandora had imagined.
She moved forward and took his arm.
"How was your journey, my dear?" the duke asked as he escorted her into the house.
Before Pandora could reply, Lord St. Vincent spoke from behind them. "Lady Pandora doesn't like small talk, Father. She would prefer to discuss topics such as Darwin, or women's suffrage."Lisa Kleypas

Conversations Daughter In Law Father In Law Pandora Ravenel Sebastian St Vincent Small Talk