Yiddish is the voice of exile, the tongue of ghettos, but I'll shed a tear when it joins ancient Greek and dead Latin. For gossip and insult, you can't beat Yiddish.
Mike Walker is the Hemingway of gossip.
Mechanical instruments, potentially a vehicle of rational human purposes, are scarcely a blessing when they enable the gossip of the village idiot and the deeds of the thug to be broadcast to a million people each day.
The widespread interest in gossip is inspired, not by a love of knowledge but by malice: no one gossips about other people's secret virtues, but only about their secret vices. Accordingly most gossip is untrue, but care is taken not to verify it. Our neighbour's sins, like the consolations of religion, are so agreeable that we do not stop to scrutinise the evidence closely.
The uniform tenor of a man's life furnishes better evidence of what he has said or done on any particular occasion than the word of any enemy.
A powerful truth is that if we love the Lord, love His Word, love His people, and love one another, we won't want to gossip.
There were too many ears that listened for others besides themselves, and too many tongues that wagged to those they shouldn't.
They're so boring. They're so pathetic, all those journalists. Most of them are. Most of those kind that write gossip stuff, and most of it's gossip. Things are just invented about your personal life and you just have to take that. It's bullshit. People believe it, though. They just believe everything they read.
Hairdressers are professional gossips; when only the hands are busy, the tongue is seldom still.
As the arrow that leaves the bow cannot be recaptured, what we say, senselessly, about others causes us great harm.
Now, I try not to read gossip as a rule. But the other day, a website ran an article with a picture of me wearing sweatpants on the way to the gym. And the writer asked, 'Why does this petite beauty insist on dressing like a massive man?' Because I like to be comfortable.
If you talk about yourself, he'll think you're boring. If you talk about others, he'll think you're a gossip. If you talk about him, he'll think you're a brilliant conversationalist.
Everybody likes to gossip. But it can be a little scary to have people knowing secrets about me when I don't know anything about them. It's not exactly a two-way street there.
Gossip and slander are not victimless crimes. Words do not just dissipate into midair. . . . Words can injure and damage, maim and destroy - forcefully, painfully, lastingly. . . . Plans have been disrupted, deals have been lost, companies have fallen, because of idle gossip or malicious slander. Reputations have been sullied, careers have been ruined, lives have been devastated, because of cruel lies or vicious rumors. . . . Your words have such power to do good or evil that they must be chosen carefully, wisely, and well.
Folks will say anything, and next time round they'll believe it.
My self . . . is a dramatic ensemble. Here a prophetic ancestor makes his appearance. Here a brutal hero shouts. Here an alcoholic bon vivant argues with a learned professor. Here a lyric muse, chronically love-struck, raises her eyes to heaven. Her papa steps forward, uttering pedantic protests. Here the indulgent uncle intercedes. Here the aunt babbles gossip. Here the maid giggles lasciviously. And I look upon it all with amazement, the sharpened pen in my left hand.
I did ... learn an important distinction in graduate school: a speculation about who had syphilis when is gossip if it's about your friends, a plot element if it's about a character in a novel, and scholarship if it's about John Keats.
I got around a lot, and lots of people talked to me. I salted down stories by the barrel load.
Officials and journalists live in parallel but separate realities; they see and talk to each other, may have a meal and gossip together, but their worlds never touch, because officials use words that don't mean what they say, while for those reporters in Vietnam - Halberstam, Peter Arnett, Morley Safer, and others - words were vessels of reality.
She [Eva Braun] was always complaining later on, "I know nothing that's going on." They [with Adolf Hitler] talked about other things: dogs, movies, music, Munich gossip, who was going with who, who was cheating on their spouses, who was drinking too much or trying to quit. All sorts of local things like that.
In this whole digital age, where everything is so exposed, rather than trying to keep something private, you try to get out ahead of the curve and limit the amount of gossip.
I like being married to another writer. You get to trade ideas. You get to talk shop. You get to complain. You get to gossip. And you don't have to explain why you're in such a bad mood when your work isn't going well.
[Some outlets] shouldn't even call themselves news providers; they're just entertainment gossip without any sort of accountability or fact-checking.
I don't like gossip stories. Facts are okay. But when gossips begin making items, that's something else again.
I haven't any close friends. Friendship needs time to interact, sit down, gossip. I don't have that time.
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