“Q: Why don't boys talk?A: Boys do talk! You watch a group of them from a distance you will see that their lips are moving. They are probably making hand gestures as well. But what are they talking about?I do my hare of talking with my guy friends, but I have no idea what we talk bout. guys have absolutely no short-term memory for conversations. This is why a girl can have a long, heart-to-heart talk with her sweetie, and the next day she makes some reference to what they talked about, and he looks at her with utter incomprehension and says, "Huh?"The reason for this forgetfulness is that guys almost never anything in conversation that is worth remembering.”

“I like a lot of talk in a book and I don't like to have nobody tell me what the guy that's talking looks like. I want to figure out what he looks like from the way he talks”

“She brought the tea into the living room on a lacquered tray. The pot and cups were Japanese with unglazed rims. She poured. "Thanks," I said. "Well?" "Huh?" "Your family," she reminded. I sipped the tea. "This is really good. Really delicious." She raised her eyebrows. "That's what I thought. You're a good listener, Davy, and you can change the subject on a dime. You've hardly talked about yourself at all." "I talk... too much." "You talk about books, you talk about plays, you talk about movies, you talk about places, you talk about food, you talk about current events. You don't talk about yourself." I opened my mouth, then shut it again. I hadn't really thought about it. Sure, I didn't talk  about the jumping, but the rest? "Well, there's not much to say. Not like those stories of growing up with four brothers." She smiled. "It's not going to work. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. But I'm not going to be distracted again, nor fooled into talking about those idiots again." She poured more tea into my cup. I frowned. "Do I really do that?" "What? Not talk about yourself? Yes." "No, try and distract you." She stared at me. "You are fucking amazing. I've never seen someone so good at changing the subject." "I don't do it on purpose." She laughed. ”

“I think she cried at my funeral. It's not that I'm conceited or anything, but I'm pretty sure. Sometimes I can actually picture her talking about me to some guy she feels close to. Talking about me dying. About how they lowered me into the grave, kind of shrivelled up and pitiful, like an old chocolate bar. About how we never really got a chance. And afterwards the guy fucks her, a fuck that's all about making her feel better.”

“Let me tell you what I just heard. Talk, talk, talk, I. Talk, talk, talk, I. Well, what about me?”

“Having an energy conversation without talking about climate is like talking about smoking and not talking about cancer.”