One must talk. That's how it is. One must.
He always said she was smart, but their conversations were a mined field in which at any moment she might make the wrong verbal move and find her ignorance exploding in her face.
'Tis social converse, animates the soul.
But I am a-eppisodin' and a-eppisodin' to a length and depth almost onprecedented and onheard of - and to resoom and go on.
That amenity which the French have developed into a great art . . . conversation.
The moral disposition of the age appears in the refinement of conversation.
The Devil often places himself upon the tongues of creatures, causing them to chatter nonsensically.
Click, clack, click, clack, went their conversation, like so many knitting-needles, purl, plain, purl, plain, achieving a complex pattern of references, cross-references, Christian names, nicknames, and fleeting allusions.
So we go, so little knowing what we touch and what touches us as we talk! We drop out a common piece of news, "Mr. So-and-so is dead, Miss Such-a-one is married, such a ship has sailed," and lo, on our right hand or on our left, some heart has sunk under the news silently - gone down in the great ocean of Fate, without even a bubble rising to tell its drowning pang. And this - God help us! - is what we call living!
TOPER. Yesterday I carried to wait on a Relation of ours that has a Parrot, and whilst I was discoursing about some private Business, she converted the Bird, and now it talks of nothing but the Light of the Spirit, and the Inward man.
It is, I think, a good deal owing to the preponderance of the commercial element in Society that conversation has sunk to its present dull level of conventional chatter.
His conversation was marked by its happy abundance.
Always he had wanted to tell somebody about his life, but when he had tried, his confidante had looked at him.
Just when I most needed important conversation, a sniff of the man-wide world, that is, at least one brainy companion who could translate my friendly language into his tongue of undying carnal love, I was forced to lounge in our neighborhood park, surrounded by children.
I say you hurt me. You say I scorned you. We say we care. It begins. The conversation begins.
My heart went out, seeking the God of my people. In thousands of homes those white candles burned tonight. I joined an invisible congregation.
[Keeping kosher was] the symbol of an initiation, like the insignia of a secret brotherhood, that set her apart and gave her freedom and dignity. Every law whose yoke she accepted willingly seemed to add to her freedom: she herself had chosen . . . To enter that brotherhood. Her Judaism was no longer a stigma, a meaningless accident of birth from which she could escape . . . It had become a distinction, the essence of her self-hood, what she was, what she wanted to be, not merely what she happened to be.
Conversation succeeds conversation, Until there's nothing left to talk about Except truth, the perennial monologue, And no talker to dispute it but itself.
Queens you must always be: queens to your lovers; queens to your husbands and your sons, queens of higher mystery to the world beyond. . . . But alas, you are too often idle and careless queens, grasping at majesty in the least things, while you abdicate it in the greatest.
If you go to see the woman, do not forget the whip.
the recurrent drama of menstrual bleeding must have been unnerving to primitive peoples. In man, the shedding of blood is always associated with injury, disease, or death. Only the female half of humanity was seen to have the magical ability to bleed profusely and still rise phoenix-like each month from the gore.
The woman born to physical subjection and degradation can never seek or use knowledge as her birthright. Never till she holds her sex in honor, as man holds his, can she be his equal, even in her own realm.
Of how many women might the history be comprised in those few words - 'she lived, suffered, and was buried'!
Mankind, from Adam, have been women's fools; Women, from Eve, have been the devil's tools: Heaven might have spar'd one torment when we fell; Not left us women, or not threatened hell.
Woman is like the reed which bends to every breeze, but breaks not in the tempest.
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