Many words are spoken when there’s nothing to say.
It is commonly observed, that when two Englishmen meet, their first talk is of the weather; they are in haste to tell each other, what each must already know, that it is hot or cold, bright or cloudy, windy or calm.
They talk most who have the least to say.
No whispered rumors which the many spread can wholly perish.
Conversation, which is friendship's mode of expression, is a superficial digression which gives us nothing worth acquiring. We may talk for a lifetime without doing more than indefinitely repeat the vacuity of a minute.
Half-wits talk much, but say little.
Don't start me talking, I could talk all night. My mind goes sleepwalking while I'm putting the world right.
I'm constantly around people that talk a lot but say nothing. A sad case.
There is more talke then trouble.
To babble is to make a feminine noise somewhat resembling the sound of a brook, but with less meaning.
Foolish tongues talke by the dozen.
This is a rumour-filled society and if people want to sit around and talk about whom I've dated, then I'd say they have a lot of spare time and should consider other topics... or masturbation.
After all is said and done, more is said than done.
He could talk a dog off a meat wagon. He talked a lot but said nothing.
I have heard talk and talk, but nothing is done.
Your mind is on vacation and your mouth is working overtime.
The slothful are always ready to engage in idle talk of what will be done tomorrow, and every day after.
Rumour is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures And of so easy and so plain a stop That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, The still-discordant wavering multitude, Can play upon it.
Michael Bisping just speaks to speak; he just talks to talk. He just tries to open his mouth so that something can be heard, but nothing's going to come out.
Which of all my important nothings shall I tell you first?
And 'tis remarkable that they talk most who have the least to say.
Sometimes between lunch and dinner, when there's a lull, Jill and Shaniqua and I will sit around and fantasize about what we'd do if a REAL celebrity walked into the place, like Chad Michael Murray (although we've gone off him a bit since his divorce) or Jared Padalecki, or even Prince William (you never know. He could have gotten his yacht lost, or whatever.)
People like to talk more than they like to act. They like to sit there and complain and vent. Somehow they think that changes things, when it doesn't.
In our appetite for gossip, we tend to gobble down everything before us, only to find, too late, that it is our ideals we have consumed, and we have not been enlarged by the feasts but only diminished.
If it were not for a goodly supply of rumors, half true and half false, what would the gossips do?
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