Maud—People have a great deal to say about women talking too much.
Beatrix—Yes, but have you noticed that “Famous Last Words” are all men’s?
The Leatherneck, 1924
We talk too much whenever we say anything unkind or anything that needlessly gives pain to a gentle heart.
J. R. Miller
I am thinking of a friend, another marvelous lingual spate, who inspires me with revolt; with the desire to be heard myself now and then. But my plans must be laid ahead, thought out in time. What I want to say must be on the tip of my tongue, ready to gush forth in a loud and insistent, combative voice; there must be no pause, no loop-hole for her or she will enter immediately and I am lost.
But if such loophole should perforce occur I have found that a quick, fierce gesture is valuable in arresting her; I have learned to shoot forth my hand almost in her face, or to shake my fist, or snap my fingers almost in her nose.
This seems to have the effect of stemming the outburst, which is only damming up for another flood. Or to call out her name firmly and say “listen” or “look,” is sometimes efficacious.
All this is wearing, of course, and of little satisfaction for all, for I know she does not really hear what I am saying. By sheer force of will and a little chicanery I have made her cease for a minute, but in her eyes I see a blankness, the blankness of one who is thinking of what she has just said or what she will say next.
G. W. Hyde
There is yet another way in which words become vital to us, the words and tone of criticism, the rough answer, the sneer, the cruel jest, the unkind, unnecessary epithet. Their echo after they have been spoken never passes away. They imbitter our days and haunt us in our dreams. Oh, what would we not have given if they had never been uttered! for there was no need of saying them, — just a fit of ill temper, the desire to be witty, to make a little sensation, a feeble jealousy or envy, — all despicable causes, yet the prompters of words that cannot be recalled. No apology or explanation can prevent the heartache.
Kate Gannett Wells