Sheila: But what of all those sweet words you spoke in private? Ash: Oh that's just what we call pillow talk, baby, that's all.
If Jesus himself, or Mohammed, or Buddha spoke to me personally and said that women are inferior to men, I would still reject that as false dogma because I know with every ounce of my being that this is not true.
Henry Ford is quoted as saying. "History is more or less bunk." Now, if he never spoke those words, doesn't that just prove he was right when he didn't say them?
When, at the end of the 1960s, I became interested in the Nazi era, it was a taboo subject in Germany. No one spoke about it anymore, no more in my house than anywhere else.
What if lawmakers never spoke to their constituents? Oddly enough, that's exactly how corporate America operates. Shareholders vote for directors, but the directors rarely, if ever, communicate with them.
At the last Celebration I spoke before an auditorium full of people and I could just feel the affection and the positive feelings that they were exuding. It was actually moving. I remember thinking, 'I'm not worthy,' because 'Star Wars' is so much bi...
...it is well known that to praise someone whose rivalry you do not dread is often a very good way of putting a spoke in the wheel of someone whose rivalry you do.
When he returned, Edith was in bed with the covers pulled to her chin, her face turned upward, her eyes closed, a thin frown creasing her forehead. Silently, as if she were asleep, Stoner undressed and got into bed beside her. For several moments he ...
You have never tasted freedom, friend," Dienekes spoke, "or you would know it is purchased not with gold, but steel.
[...] she hadn't realised how much she missed the company of women who laughed, women who spoke their own minds, women who didn't give a shit for anything.
They spoke less and less between them until at last they were silent altogether as is often the way with travelers approaching the end of a journey.
The word of the oldest of the old of our peoples didn't stop. It spoke the truth, saying that our feet couldn't walk alone, that our history of pain and shame was repeated and multiplied in the flesh and blood of the brothers and sisters of other lan...
Being on a television show and having so many fans is something that I've never experienced before, and it's really neat when they come up to you and are like, 'That storyline is amazing and really spoke to me in my life,' and it's really cool. I rea...
If we spoke with our ears, and listened through our mouth, then a kiss might be the most romantic sound in the world.
They spoke in semaphore, all punctuation unnecessary. “You?” “Great.” They’d trimmed the language to its essentials. Before long it would just be consonants. Then silence.
Cadus spoke the local Greek better than I did; they stretch the vowels here, and round them off, so that words that look the same on the written page sound as if they are spoken by a goat with catarrh.
She spoke fast, and seemed to be a combination of stressed out and on the verge of cracking up, which was a mixture I wasn't sure I'd ever seen before.
A single radio post still heard him. The only link between him and the world was a wave of music, a minor modulation. Not a lament, no cry, yet purest of sounds that ever spoke despair.
Do you prefer to be called Richard or Dick?” “Ric.” “Dick? I'll make a note of that on your file.” I spoke aloud as I wrote. “Patient prefers to be called Dick.
I hold his name close as my own blood and I will never let it out. I only spoke it that once so he would know he was alive.
Keep your hands off me.” She spoke viciously, through her teeth, and he caught a glimpse of her deVere ancestry. She was a virago in tiny, fragile, fairy form.
