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Telling Quotes

Browse 41 quotes about Telling.

Telling Quotes

“Why do we have to do this in the middle of the night?” Taylor asked. “Because we don’t want the whole town knowing why we’re going and where we’re going.” “How can I tell anyone if I don’t even know myself?” Taylor stuck out her lower lip. “Water. We’re going to look for water,” Sam said. He could almost hear the wheels in Taylor’s head spinning. Then, “OMG, we’re out of water?” She bit her lip, took a couple of dramatic breaths, and wailed, “Do you mean we’re all going to die?” “That would be a pretty good example of why we’re keeping this secret,” Sam said dryly. “I just need to go—” “Uh-uh!” Sam said. “No you don’t, Taylor. You don’t bounce anywhere or talk to anyone without me agreeing. Are we clear?” “You know, Sam, you’re nice. And so very, very hot,” Taylor said. “But you’re not really much fun.” “Let’s get out of here while we can,” Dekka said. “I brought a gun, by the way.” “Are we going to be in danger?” Taylor cried. “The gun’s in case you get on my nerves, Taylor,” Dekka warned. “Oh, so funny,” Taylor said.”

WaterSecretKnowingNervesPanicBounceSam TempleTellingDekkaTaylor
Book:Plague
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“As much as I would like to know my path, a part of me is telling me that it is better not too know too many details about the end destination or the obstacles on the journey. If I can only see as much as my headlights will show me, I can travel safely through any kind of weather, knowing that there's life through every sunrise and sunset and when the light is not shining as I'm used to, I can always assure myself that the night sky will show me many fulfilled dreams and hopes portrayed through shining stars, and every now and then reveal me a part of the moon which reflects that everlasting light, whether fully or not, making me aware that the shadow will always have its' mysterious beauty as well in the process of underlying a part of the truth. So let's continue like this, with our eyes set out far away in the galaxy, but with our feet firm in the ground from which we have been raised. Only so will we be able to ground ourselves deeply and reach immeasurable heights, like a tree deeply rooted in mother Earth that stretches its' branches up to the heavens.”

TruthEarthMotherNightStarsProcessBeautyKnowingPathDreamsJourneyFeetSkyTravelShadowShiningDetailsObstaclesWeatherMysteriousBranchesSunsetDestinationFulfilledSunriseGalaxyEndKnowBetterLikeShineHopesAwarePartHeadlightsTellingDeeplySafelyPortrayed
Author:Virgil Kalyana Mittata Iordache
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“FIGARO. Of course. Ever since people started noticing that in time yesterday’s inanity turns into today’s wisdom, and that little old lies, planted haphazardly, grow into vast and mighty truths, there have been countless varieties! Truths you know but cannot reveal, for not every truth is suitable for telling. Truths you repeat but don’t believe, for not every truth is worth believing.”

TruthLiesSanityBelievingTelling
Book:The Barber of Seville / The Marriage of Figaro / The Guilty Mother
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“A writer out of loneliness is trying to communicate like a distant star sending signals. He isn't telling, or teaching, or ordering. Rather, he seeks to establish a relationship with meaning, of feeling, of observing. We are lonesome animals. We spend all our live trying to be less lonesome. And one of our ancient methods is to tell a story, begging the listener to say, and to feel, "Yes, that's the way it is, or at least that's the way I feel it. You're not as alone as you thought." To finish is sadness to a writer, a little death. He puts the last word down and it is done. But it isn't really done. The story goes on and leaves the writer behind, for no story is ever done.”

WritingDeathRelationshipSadnessTeachingLonelinessAloneMeaningWriterStoryFeelingWriteObservingStarFeelWordListenLonesomeFinishTellingSignalListener
Author:John Steinbeck
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“I want to apologize to you,” she says calmly. “Oh yeah? For what?” I don’t have time for this. We don’t have time for this. I push away thoughts of what will happen to Hana even if I manage to escape. She’ll be here, in the house . . . My stomach is clenching and unclenching. I’m worried the bread will come straight back up. I have to stay focused. What happens to Hana isn’t my concern, and it isn’t my fault, either. “For telling the regulators about 37 Brooks,” she says. “For telling them about you and Alex.” Just like that, my brain powers down. “What?" “I told them.” She lets out a tiny exhalation, as though saying the words has given her relief. “I’m sorry. I was jealous.” I can’t speak. I’m swimming through a fog. “Jealous?” I manage to spit out. “I—I wanted what you had with Alex. I was confused. I didn’t understand what I was doing.” She shakes her head again. I have a swinging, seasick feeling. It doesn’t make any sense. Hana—golden girl Hana, my best friend, fearless and reckless. I trusted her. I loved her. “You were my best friend.” “I know.” Again she looks troubled, as though trying to recall the meaning of the words. “You had everything.” I can’t stop my voice from rising. The anger is vibrating, ripping through me like a live current. “Perfect life. Perfect grades. Everything.” I gesture to the spotless kitchen, to the sunshine pouring over the marble counters like drizzled butter. “I had nothing. He was my one thing. My only—” The sickness surges up and I take a step forward, clenching my fists, blind with rage. “Why couldn’t you let me have it? Why did you have to take it? Why did you always take everything?”

SorryBetrayalJealousNothingEverythingApologizeTellingLena HalowayAlex SheathesHana Tate
Book:Requiem
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“The telling and the hearing of a story is not a simple act. The one who tells must reach down into deeper layers of the self, reviving old feelings, reviewing the past. Whatever is retrieved is reworked into a new form, one that narrates events and gives the listener a path through these events that leads to some fragment of wisdom. The one who hears takes the story in, even to a place not visible or conscious to the mind, yet there. In this inner place a story from another life suffers a subtle change. As it enters the memory of the listener it is augmented by reflection, by other memories, and even the body hearing and responding in the moment of the telling. By such transmissions, consciousness is woven.”

StoriesWisdomPastHistoryEventsCommunicationNarrativeTransmissionTelling
Book:A Chorus of Stones: The Private Life of War
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“Let’s not wait until the light fades into irreparable loss, but let’s stay in the loop and pursue the momentous flow of daily little wonders, since life kindly tenders us gorgeous bouquets of sparkling colors, telling signs and rousing episodes. (“Côté cour…Côté jardin”)”

LifeLightLossFlowPursueGorgeousColorsWaitSparklingDailyStaySignsWondersTenderIrreparableTellingBouquetMomentousEpisodeKindlyCôté Cour Côté JardinFade InRousingIn The Loop
Author:Erik Pevernagie
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“The global mind control grid doesn't want you thinking about the global mind control grid; it doesn't want you telling anyone about it either. The global mind control grid doesn't want you thinking about the global mind control grid; it doesn't want you telling anyone about it either. The global mind control grid doesn't want you thinking about the global mind control grid it doesn't want you telling anyone about it either.”

ThinkingMind ControlGlobalTellingGrid
Book:94,000 Wasps in a Trench Coat
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“Instead of one-way interruption, Web marketing is about delivering useful content at just the precise moment that a buyer needs it. Search, a marketing method that didn't exist a decade ago, provides the most efficient and inexpensive way for businesses to find leads.”

SocialMediaDesignIdentityMarketingCorporateStoryContentClaimTellingNamingZürichSloganStrategieAgenturDavid HoneggerHoneggerbregenzer ChJonas BregenzerOnline LogoWebagenturWerbeagenturWerbung
Author:David Honegger
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“I excuse myself and go to the ladies’ room. Washing my hands, I give myself a little you can do this type pep talk. When I walk out, I see him leaned up against the wall opposite the door. "Long line for the men's room?" I try to joke, moving past him. His hand circles my wrist, stopping me. I inhale, frozen in place. My back is to him. I don't try to pull away. I can't move. I just look down at his hand, staring at his damn freckle. "Sarah." "What are you playing at, Will?' "Playing?" He tugs my arm back so I'm facing him. "I promise you this is no game." "Alright, what do you want from me? Is that better?" I practically spit. "Everything." He's moved his hands up to hold my biceps. "I want everything from you." Everything. That one word still breaks my heart when I think back to that night. My head snaps back as though he's struck me. Don’t cry, just don’t cry. "I gave you everything once. Now I have nothing left for you." I pull myself from his grasp and hurry back to the table.”

LoveTruthGamesHurtTellingGive Freely
Book:Him
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