I can talk for a long time only when it's about something boring.
Rule number one: Why is it that the one time a cute guy talks to you, you have a friend who’s in crisis?
She asked me could I read and write. I told her, "Of course, and I can talk too.
Yes, you bit me, yes, I kind of liked it, yes, let's not talk about it again, said Jace. You're not a vampire anymore. Focus.
Someone's going to be very pleased to see you." "I don't think the Elector will be as excited as you think." "I wasn't talking about the Elector." My heart jumps at that.
She talked about God giving man free will. Because of that, there is evil in the world. If God pulled everyone’s strings all the time, we’d be puppets.
Somehow, we were passing the boundaries of language and finding clarity in shared thought, even if we were just talking about beer!
There is nothing that makes me happier than sitting around the dinner table and talking until the candles are burned down.
My dad had once told me, crimson-red deep in “the talk,” that with sons, all he had to worry about was one penis, but with a daughter, he had to worry about everyone else’s.
If only one didn't know that at the secret heart of all such organizations, corporations and governments alike, it still came down to a finite number of fallible people talking to each other . . .
She was so intelligent that she could think herself into beauty. Intelligence...they don't talk about it much, the poets, but when a woman is intelligent and passionate and good...
If you see an old man talking to himself, he might not be a fool or crazy. He might be sharing a conversation with the past, warmed by a memory he need not reveal.
I wanted to talk to someone. But who? It’s moments like this, when you need someone the most, that your world seems smallest.
I don’t care too much about talking, but I don’t like being alone.
She didn't want to talk about his nonsensical fairy stuff. "That's because you can't take me there. You're not capable of it. Because it doesn't exist.
I almost slapped a patient yesterday. Stupid b**** kicked me while I was telling her to push. Talking about she needed something for the pain.
When it came to adults, it was better not to talk. They had a way of hearing one thing and processing it as something else. No reason to give them an excuse to hurt you.
Hearing him talk about his mother, about his intact family, makes my chest hurt for a second, like someone pierced it with a needle.
All we have to do to see is open our eyes and look. As we teach what we learn, I am in essence talking to myself.
Forever and an Instant Forever and an instant met up one day, had a short but lovely talk, then each went on its way.
This much I know already: When Tommy and the Big Brains, in whispered, wry asides, talk about Project 88715, they call it something else. They call it the "Adam Project.
