conversation

Leadership is a conversation.

No one is more beautiful to me than a person who's easy to talk to.

I'd trade a hundred pretty faces for one person who's easy to talk to.

Women speak because they wish to speak, whereas a man speaks only when driven to speak by something outside himself-like, for instance, he can't find any clean socks.

Corrival looked around. 'So is this it? Is everyone here? Erskine, maybe you should start the ball rolling. I have places to go and things to do.''Me?' Ravel asked. 'Why do I have to start it? You're the most respected mage here. You start it, or Skulduggery.'Skulduggery shook his head. 'I can't start it. I don't like most of these people. I might start shooting.

Things are embarrassing, best to avoid them. But since your death I prefer a naturalist style of conversation. Let's strip it down to what matters. Let's have emotions and beliefs on show without the modest covering of small talk.

Most bad," the host concluded. "If you ask me, something sinister lurks in men who avoid wine, games, the company of lovely women, and dinnertime conversation. Such people are either gravely ill or secretly detest everyone around them.

Do you want to resolve a conflict successfully? Don't wait, start a conversation.

The host took care to produce one or another of these whenever the current subjects seemed about used up, so that the conversation gathered new life and at the same time steered clear of political arguments, which are hindersome to both ingestion and digestion.

[M]rs. Miniver was beginning to feel more than a little weary of exchanging ideas (especially political ones) and of hearing other people exchange theirs. It's all very well, she reflected, when the ideas have had time to flower, or at least to bud, so that we can pick them judiciously, present them with a bow, and watch them unfold in the warmth of each other's understanding: but there is far too much nowadays of pulling up the wretched little things just to see how they are growing. Half the verbal sprigs we hand each other are nothing but up-ended rootlets, earthy and immature: left longer in the ground they might have come to something, but once they are exposed we seldom manage to replant them. It is largely the fault, no doubt, of the times we live in. Things happen too quickly, crisis follows crisis, the soil of our minds is perpetually disturbed. Each of us, to relieve his feels, broadcasts his own running commentary on the preposterous and bewildering events of the hour: and this, nowadays, is what passes for conversation.

When a person pauses in mid-sentence to choose a word, that's the best time to jump in and change the subject! It's like an interception in football! You grab the others guy's idea and run the opposite way with it! The more sentences you complete, the higher your score! The idea is to block the other guy's thoughts and express your own! That's how you win!Conversations aren't contests!Ok, a point for you, but I'm still ahead.

More of your conversation would infect my brain.

Sometimes when it looks like I'm deep in thought I'm just trying not to have a conversation with people.

At some point, one asks, "Toward what end is my life lived?" A great freedom comes from being able to answer that question. A sleeper can be decoyed out of bed by the sheer beauty of dawn on the open seas. Part of my job, as I see it, is to allow that to happen. Sleepers like me need at some point to rise and take their turn on morning watch for the sake of the planet, but also for their own sake, for the enrichment of their lives. From the deserts of Namibia to the razor-backed Himalayas, there are wonderful creatures that have roamed the Earth much longer than we, creatures that not only are worthy of our respect but could teach us about ourselves.

The conversation was like the sort one has in dreams__ad but interesting.

What ho!" I said."What ho!" said Motty."What ho! What ho!""What ho! What ho! What ho!"After that it seemed rather difficult to go on with the conversation.

Irritatingly angry people have no sense of humor when wearing their __ngry pants.

Stairs," Valkyrie said, disappointed."Not just ordinary stairs," Skulduggery told her as he led the way down. "Magic stairs.""Really?""Oh, yes."She followed him into the darkness. "How are they magic?""They just are.""In what way?""In a magicky way."She glared at the back of his head. "They aren't magic at all, are they?""Not really.