talk - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Your talk is how you show your love, the evidence of your listening lies in what you say, your emotion in the silences. I could listen to you forever, talk about something, talk about nothing, be boring, tell a tall tale - it doesn't matter to me.
Beneath the talk was the love, the gentle gaze of their eyes, the relaxed nature of their faces. Whatever they talked of never mattered, only that they were talking, connected. And in that way their talk was a salve to one another.
The talk was littered with smiles, the real communication, not the words. It told them of the love that lay there, unspoken, forbidden. It was as obvious as the morning sun, as real as the grass. The feeling flowed through them as the conversation filled the air, until the time to part arrived. With practised nonchalance each walked away from the other, both feeling the wrench of parting.
Edward's talk gives away his thought patterns - egocentric like a child. All of his pains are front and foremost and Lucy's are nothing at all. He doesn't care to talk of what ails her, only seeks the quickest escape from the conversation. It is as if Edward decided long ago that it was her task to soothe him and the role reversal was unacceptable. And so the usual things happen next, he becomes colder to force her back into nurturing him, not happy until she's pouring out the empathy that she had so badly needed for herself.
There is something in the way Niles talks that gives him away, his keenness to seek information. Always it is the same, starting with a little patter to relax Keisha and then he's in with the question that's burning his brain. Once she answers he looses interest, stops talking and leaves. He has acquired what he wanted and what she says next is of no interest. Then she sits there looking confused, unsure of what she did to offend.
The silvery melody of the drawl of sightseers and the strong, distinct accents of the locals drifted through my ears as they ambled past.
He had found it impossible to talk with Elizabeth in the way he had expected to talk to her, and he was so out of sorts that he could not talk to Miss Masters, though that maiden aristocrat of advancing years, strangely stimulated by his presence, seemed efficient enough to do all the talking herself.
But just then dinner was announced, and though Elizabeth smiled at Marriott with sympathy, she was glad to have him interrupted in his philosophizing, or poetizing, or whatever it was, to take her out to the dining-room, where the great round table, with its mound of scarlet roses and tiny glasses of sherry glowing ruddy in the soft light of the shaded candelabra, awaited them. And there they passed through the long courses, at first talking lightly, but excitedly, of the snow, mentioning the pleasure and the new sensations it would afford them;
"Emma, communication amongst our species goes mostly under the radar. It is subconscious communication concurrent with the conscious communication. It's not just body language either. Most of the meaning of a conversation is in the 'junk talk,' it's in the throw away phrases and extra words. This is how we let people really know what's going on at individual, group and species levels. And it is absolutely honest. It's in songs, stories, art... just like in dreams, all those metaphors carry a meaning we innately understand. I listen, Em, I do. And I hear pain, struggle and a search for love, the divine spirit and peace. We are brilliant, just like the bird who builds a nest, or flies in formation, we are coordinating and cooperating as best we can."