No Replies Quotes & Sayings

We're sorry for frightening you, Tris,' another voice says, 'but anonymity is integral to our operation. We mean you no harm.'
'Let go of me then!' I say, almost growling. All the hands holding me on the wall fall away.
'Who are you?' I demand.
'We are the Alliegiant,' the voice replies. 'And we are many, yet we are no one ... '
I can't help it: I laugh. — Veronica Roth

The year might age, and cloudy
The lessening day might close,
But air of other summers
Breathed from beyond the snows,
And I had hope of those.
They came and were and are not
And come no more anew;
And all the years and seasons
That ever can ensue
Must now be worse and few.
So here's an end of roaming
On eves when autumn nighs:
The ear too fondly listens
For summer's parting sighs,
And then the heart replies. — A.E. Housman

A husband comes home from satsang and greets his wife, lifts her up and carries her around the house. His wife is surprised and asks, 'Did the Swami ji preach about being romantic today?' Her husband replies, 'No, he said we must carry our burdens and sorrows with a smile. — Khushwant Singh

On another note, I also learned that everyone plays games with texting, like waiting longer than the other person to text, sending replies of equal length, always trying to get the last word, and the like. Even if you say you "don't play games," that is a type of game - it is the "I don't play games" game. Everyone hates these games and no one wants to play them. For the most part, people just want to be honest and say how they feel, and they definitely want others to be honest and open with them. But here's the thing: Unfortunately those games are actually kind of effective. No matter how much people want things to be different, I don't think we can defeat the insecurities and tendencies built into our internal psychology. — Aziz Ansari

What began, after a few more minutes, to irritate him was that she didn't even attempt to be engaging - made no effort toward wit or color in her replies. Only an attractive young woman would take for granted a stranger's interest in the minutiae of her life. — Adelle Waldman

I'm actually here with Crispin. You didn't forget about your tutoring date with him, did you?"
I wrinkle my nose. "I thought I told him no?"
Just then, Crispin comes into view on his way up the walk.
"I thought I told you no," I call out to him.
"Ah," he replies, joining James in the doorway. "You did. But I've been told that when a woman says no, she really means yes. So I read between the lines."
"Well, whoever told you that was wrong," I say, trying to regain my composure. "Unless you're asking that woman if Brad Pitt is sexier than you. In that case, no always means yes."
Crispin looks faintly amused, but James arches an eyebrow. "Always?" he asks.
Personally I'm not overly fond of Brad Pitt. But I unconvincingly reply, "I'm just telling it like it is."
James shrugs carelessly. "Well, there's no accounting for some people's taste."
"Amen," I murmur. — Haley Fisher

Oh no!' replies Monsieur Tuvache indignantly. 'We're not murderers, you know. You have to understand that's prohibited. We supply what is needed but people do the deed themselves. It's their affair. We are just here to offer a service by selling quality products,' continues the shopkeeper, leading the customer towards the checkout. — Jean Teule

In any age, there is no shortage of people willing to embark on a hazardous adventure. Columbus and Magellan filled eight ships between them for voyages into the void. One hundred and fifty years ago, the possibilities offered by missionary service were limitless and first-rate. Later, Scott and Shackleton turned away droves after filling their crews for their desperate Antarctic voyages. In 1959 ... sailor H.W. Tilman, looking for a crew for a voyage in an old wooden yacht to the Southern Ocean, ran this ad in the London Times: "Hand [man] wanted for long voyage in small boat. No pay, no prospects, not much pleasure." Tilman received more replies than he could investigate, one from as far away as Saigon. — Peter Nichols

If you tell a novelist, 'Life's not like that', he has to do something about it. The poet simply replies, 'No, but I am.' — Philip Larkin

Marry me, Rachel.'

'Not yet.'

'Tomorrow, Rachel. Marry me.'

'Maybe tomorrow.'

'There is no common blood between us. Say it,' pleads Zachariah.

'There is no common blood between us,' murmurs Rachel.

'I am not your brother.'

'I know.'

He traces her face with his swollen fingers, across the brow bones and down the zygomatics, and along the jaw from earlobe to chin, sweeping away the brine as he goes.

'I am your Wolff,' he says.

'And I am your Wolff,' she replies.

Let the day begin. — Emma Richler

A neutron walks into a bar and asks, "How much for a beer?" The bartender replies, "For you? No charge. — Various

Holy shit," I blurt out. "You shaved the beard." I glare at Garrett. "Why didn't you tell me? I would've thrown us a party."

Dean snickers. "You mean thrown him a party."

"No, he means us," Garrett replies for me. "We're the ones who had to stare at that ghastly thing for half a year."

I smack Tuck's ass as he breezes past my stool. "Welcome back, Babyface."

"Fuck off," he grumbles. — Elle Kennedy

Congratulations, Mommy," I say, dropping the doll into his hands. "You could've told me I knocked you up."
"My bad. I thought you'd force me to get an abortion," Henry replies, taking the baby and cradling it as if it's real. "He has your eyes, Woods."
"And your hair." The doll is bald. "Can we name him Joe Montana?"
"Hells no, his name is Jerry Rice."
"No, his name is Joe Montana."
"I was in labor with him for fourteen hours!" Henry exclaims as he rocks the baby back and forth. "His name is Jerry Rice."
I grin. "Fine. — Miranda Kenneally

The strangeness and absurdity of these replies arise from the fact that modern history, like a deaf man, answers questions no one asks. — Leo Tolstoy

I love you."
The words come out almost in a panic, as if there's no time. As if he's about to walk into Eden again, and I've got to say it before he disappears behind the door.
"I love you too."
Jimmy' response startles me back to the room, the tobacco tin forgotten in my hand. I close it and set it on the counter, afraid of whatever drug it is inside that has me hallucinating.
"I must be losing my mind," I say, shaking my head. "I thought I just heard you say that you loved me."
"I did," Jimmy replies.
"You did?"
"Of course. You said it to me first. It woulda been rude to leave ya hangin' there, wouldn't it? — Ryan Winfield

At this point, [Tuco and Pablo] start scrapping like children, while Blondie looks secretly on. 'Please forgive me, brother', says the thoroughly ashamed Padre Ramirez. Tuco walks out, without turning back, then boastfully tells Blondie: 'My brother, he's crazy about me... even a tramp like me. No matter what happens, there'll always be a bowl of soup'. Blondie replies: 'Well, after a meal, there's nothing like a good cigar'. Tuco wipes away his tears and proceeds to eat the cigar, a broad grin returning to his face. — Christopher Frayling

Look through people," I tell her, my voice muffled by the helmet. "Smile without kindness. No small talk, no court talk. Act as if you have a million secrets, and you're the only one important enough to know them all."
She nods, taking this all in stride. After all, Cal and I have both instructed her on how to pass as Maven. This is merely a reminder, a last glance at the book before the test. "I'm not a fool," she replies coldly, and I almost punch her in the jaw. She is not Maven rings in my head, louder than a bell.
"I think you've got it," Kilorn says as he stands. He grabs my arm, pulling me slightly away. "Mare nearly killed you. — Victoria Aveyard

Where's your dog?' I ask quickly. 'Dawn said you had a dog. Let's take the dog out.'
'There ain't no dog,' replies Janis. — Carla H. Krueger

You think me cruel."
"No." Magiano hesitates for a long moment. "Maybe a little."
"I'm not branding them because I am cruel," I say calmly. "I'm doing it as a reminder of what they've done to us. To the marked. You're so quick to forget."
"I never forget," Magiano replies. This time, there is a slight sharpness to his tone. His hand hovers near his side, where his childhood wound continues to plague him. "But branding the unmarked with your crest will not make them any more loyal to you."
"It makes them fear me."
"Fear works best with some love," Magiano says. "Show them that you can be terrifying, yet generous." The gold bands in his braids clink. "Let the people love you a little, mi Adelinetta. — Marie Lu

A five minute call replaces the time it takes to read and reply to the original email and read and reply to their reply ... or replies. And I no longer spend 20+ minutes crafting the perfect email - no need to. — Simon Sinek

Much better now. And Sunny - there's no such thing as 'too much' when it comes to us. Too much mutual interest, or awareness, or desire, or too much damn love - there's no such thing."
"I love you beyond obsession," I murmur, terrified because it is too much.
"I love you to insanity," he replies, utterly solemn. "That's who I am, and that is who we are. I don't have any qualms about admitting it, and I don't have any regrets. Do you? — Olivia Lynde

May I ask you something?" I say. "Why do you read books, when you could be outside, living a million different adventures every day?"
"Because you can always count on a book to stay the same. EVerything else changes when you least expect it," she replies, bitter. "Families split apart, and nothing's forever. In books, you always know what's coming next. There are no surprises. — Jodi Picoult

Jonathan Edwards, the dear old soul, who, if his doctrine is true, is now in heaven rubbing his holy hands with glee, as he hears the cries of the damned, preached this doctrine; and he said: 'Can the believing husband in heaven be happy with his unbelieving wife in hell? Can the believing father in heaven be happy with his unbelieving children in hell? Can the loving wife in heaven be happy with her unbelieving husband in hell?' And he replies: 'I tell you, yea. Such will be their sense of justice, that it will increase rather than diminish their bliss.' There is no wild beast in the jungles of Africa whose reputation would not be tarnished by the expression of such a doctrine.
These doctrines have been taught in the name of religion, in the name of universal forgiveness, in the name of infinite love and charity. — Robert G. Ingersoll

If you think you see no slaves in pennsylvania," replies capt. zhang, his face as smooth as suet, "why, look again. they are not all african, nor do some of them even yet know,
may never know,
that they are slaves. slavery is very old upon these shores,
there is no innocence upon the practice anywhere, neither among the indians nor the spanish nor in the behavior of the rest of christendom, if it come to that. — Thomas Pynchon

I will no longer let the fear of vicious comments or replies stop me from speaking what I believe to be right. I will also never give a message that everybody will agree with. I know that even my most faithful followers will never agree 100% with what I say. I also know that they know that and are fine with it.
I am done letting the bullies win. They won't anymore. Not here. — Dan Pearce

Here, listen to this; a poem by a Greek who lived in Alexandria, one Cavafy: "You said, 'I shall go to another land to another sea Another city will be found better than this. My every effort is a written indictment And my heart - like the dead - is buried. How long will my mind be in this decay,' "and so on like that, it's the same old song we know so well - if only I were somewhere else, I would be happy. Until the poet replies to his poor friend, "New lands you will not find, you won't find other seas. The city will follow you. The streets you roam will be the same. There is no boat for you, there is no street. In the same way your life you destroyed here In this petty corner, you have spoiled it in the entire universe. — Kim Stanley Robinson

Where may one breathe?" demands one Continental Macaroni, in a yellow waistcoat, " - in New-York, Taverns have rooms where Smoke is prohibited." "Tho' clearly," replies the itinerant Stove-Salesman Mr. Whitpot, drawing vigorously at his Pipe, "what's needed is a No-Idiots Area. — Thomas Pynchon

At one point, as Samuel urges Adam to raise his boys well regardless of the blood that might be in them, Adam tells him, "You can't make a race horse of a pig." Samuel replies, "No, but you can make a very fast pig. — John Steinbeck

What?" I demand, too tired and frazzled to be polite. "Did you think I didn't care? Do you think I'm not human?"
"No," he replies. "I think you are royal. — Amy Ewing

Will you ever let me go?" I murmur, remembering our long-ago conversation. His lips twitch in a faint smile. He remembers too. "No," he replies softly. "Never." We lie in silence for a few moments, and then he asks quietly, "Do you want me to let you go?" "No, Julian." I close my eyes, a smile curving my own lips. "Never. — Anna Zaires

A drunk staggers out of a bar and runs right into two priests. He says, "I'm Jesus Christ." The first priest says, "No, son, you're not." The drunk turns to the other priest. "I'm Jesus Christ." The second priest replies, "No, son, you're not." So the drunk says, "Look, I can prove it." He walks back into the bar with the two priests. The bartender takes one look at the drunk and exclaims, "Jesus Christ, you're here again? — Various

A man goes into Boots and says: "Have you got any Viagra?" "Do you have a prescription?" asks the chemist. "No," he replies, "But 'I've got a photograph of the wife." — Frank Carson

I have said this to explain the stanza that follows, in which the soul replies to those who call in question its holy tranquillity, who will have it wholly occupied with outward duties, that its light may shine before the world: these persons have no conception of the fibres and the unseen root whence the sap is drawn, and which nourish the fruit. — John Of The Cross

I had the easiest publishing experience in the entire world. I sent out fifteen courier letters to agents, got five no replies, nine rejections and one I want to see it. A month later I had an agent. Another month later I had a three book deal with Little Brown. — Stephenie Meyer

She chuckled to herself, pressed send, and wandered around the airport for half an hour, sporadically checking Twitter. "I got nothing," she told me. "No replies." I imagined her feeling a bit deflated about this - that sad feeling when nobody congratulates you for being funny, that black silence when the Internet doesn't talk back. — Jon Ronson

The other exception to the rule regards dealings with masochists. A masochist derives pleasure from being hurt; so denying the masochist his pleasure through-pain hurts him just as much as actual physical pain hurts the non masochist. The story of the truly cruel sadist illustrates this point: The masochist says to the sadist, "beat me." To which the merciless sadist replies, "NO!" If a person wants to be hurt and enjoys suffering, then there is no reason not to indulge him in his
wont. — Anton Szandor LaVey

A guy is sitting in a bar getting bored, looking to strike up a conversation. He turns to the bartender and says, "Hey, about those Democrats in Congress..." "STOP pal - I don't allow talk about politics in my bar!" interrupted the bartender. A few minutes later the guy tries again: "You know what some people say about the pope?" "NO religion talk, either," the bartender cuts in. One more try to break the boredom: "This year, I really thought the Yankees would..." "NO sports talk. That's how fights start in bars!" the barman says. "Look, how about sex. Can I talk to you about sex?" "Sure, that we can talk about any time," replies the barkeep. "GREAT... GO FUCK YOURSELF! — Barry Dougherty

I don't think most people realize - and there's no reason they should - the amount of demeaning garbage you have to take if you want a career in the arts. I mean, going off to med school is something you can say with your head high. Or being a banker or going into insurance or the family business - no problem. But the conversations I had with grown-ups after college ... "So you're done with school now, Bill." "That's right." "So what's next on the agenda?" Pause. Finally I would say it: "I want to be a writer." And then they would pause. "A writer." "I'd like to try." Third and final pause. And then one of two inevitable replies: either "What are you going to do next?" or "What are you really going to do?" That dread double litany ... What are you going to do next? ... What are you really going to do? ... What are you going to do next? ... What are you really going to do ... ? — William Goldman

To this, Mrs. Nickleby only replied that she durst say she was very stupid, indeed she had no doubt she was, for her own children almost as much as told her so, every day of her life; to be sure she was a little older than they, and perhaps some foolish people might think she ought reasonably to know best. However, no doubt she was wrong; of course she was; she always was, she couldn't be right, she couldn't be expected to be; so she had better not expose herself any more; and to all Kate's conciliations and concessions for an hour ensuing, the good lady gave no other replies than Oh, certainly, why did they ask her?, her opinion was of no consequence, it didn't matter what she said, with many other rejoinders of the same class. — Charles Dickens

His boss, Isaac (Robert Guillaume), agrees but tells him to do it anyway "because it's television and this is how it's done." Dan replies, "Yeah, well, sitting in the back of the bus was how it was done until a forty-two-year-old lady moved up front." A few minutes later Isaac looks Dan in the eye and tells him, "Because I love you I can say this. No rich young white guy has ever gotten anywhere with me comparing himself to Rosa Parks." Finally, the voice of reason, which of course was heard on a canceled network TV series on cable. — Sarah Vowell

Babe," he replies, grinning then said no more.
Still being helpful, I explained, "I know you think that word speaks volumes but, I have to tell you, it actually doesn't. — Kristen Ashley

Ah," the neighbor says. "I hear you are religious! Great! Religion is a good thing. Where is your temple or holy place?" "We don't have a temple," replies the Christian. "Jesus is our temple." "No temple? But where do your priests work and do their rituals?" "We don't have priests to mediate the presence of God," replies the Christian. "Jesus is our priest." "No priests? But where do you offer your sacrifices to acquire the favor of your God?" "We don't need a sacrifice," replies the Christian. "Jesus is our sacrifice." "What kind of religion is this?" sputters the pagan neighbor. And the answer is, it's no kind of religion at all. — Timothy J. Keller

How could I not see you? With all these huge muscles ... " I sling a leg across his thighs and slide a hand under his jacket, over his stomach. "And this six pack ... "
"It's an eight-pack," he mutters, eyes sliding shut.
"And this adorable messy hair ... "
"Don't ruin it with the wrong adjectives."
"Fine, no more compliments. Just facts. I love you, Crosbie Lucas."
"I love you too," he replies. — Julianna Keyes

Who is it?" asks Zain, his eyes wide with disbelief at Shayda's unusual outburst. "No-one," she replies. It's a day of simple words, loaded with meaning. The no-one she said yes to a few hours ago. The no-one she agreed to spend the rest of her life with. The no-one whose rosary is dangling from her wrist. I will always be no-one. Because everyone who counts in Shayda's world is on the other side of the door. I will always be on the perimeter of her life, always the outsider, looking in. — Leylah Attar

I'll stab him," offers Jaden as she makes a stabbing motion.
"You expect me to play along?" Rob scoffs, gripping his arm protectively.
"Pretty much," replies Landon earnestly.
"You're serious?"
"As a heart attack."
"No," argues Rob. "I'm not going to let Jaden - or anyone else - skewer me." He's greeted with an amused silence. "Bleedin' crime is what it is," he mutters. "Why can't someone else go all noble sacrifice-y? It's because I'm English, ain't it? — Laura Kreitzer

You will be the first test subject, Tobias. Beatrice, however ... " She smiles. "You are too injured to be of much use to me, so your execution will occur at the conclusion of this meeting."
I try to hide the shudder that goes through me at the word "execution," my shoulder screaming with pain, and look up at Tobias. It's hard to blink tears back when I see the terror in Tobias's wide, dark eyes.
"No," says Tobias. His voice trembles, but his look stern as he shakes his head. "I would rather die."
"I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice in that matter," replies Jeanine lightly.
Tobias takes my face in this hands roughly and kisses me, the pressure of his lips pushing mine apart. I forget my pain and the terror of approaching death and for a moment, I am grateful that the memory of that kiss will be fresh in my mind as I meet my end. — Veronica Roth

Deep-sea-fishing boat, which they would buy, man themselves, and rent to vacationers - this though neither had ever skippered a canoe or hooked a guppy. Then, too, there was quick money to be made chauffeuring stolen cars across South American borders. ("You get paid five hundred bucks a trip," or so Perry had read somewhere.) But of the many replies he might have made, he chose to remind Dick of the fortune awaiting them on Cocos Island, a land speck off the coast of Costa Rica. "No fooling, Dick," Perry said. "This is authentic. I've got a map. I've got the whole history. It was buried there back in 1821 - Peruvian bullion, jewelry. Sixty million dollars - that's what they — Truman Capote

I'm beneath no man!" she replies harshly. Then, with a mischievous quirk to her mouth, she adds, "At least not without dinner and a drink first. — M. Leighton

We are the Allegiant," the voice replies. "And we are many, yet we are no one. . . . — Veronica Roth

And so is another question that Sanderson's experience leads him to discuss: whether the mind is identical with the brain. He mentions a case of a man who died in a New York hospital, and who an autopsy revealed to have no brain, only "half a cupful of dirty water". This sounds, admittedly, like another of those absurd stories that are not worth discussing. But in the early 1980s Professor John Lourber of Sheffield University discovered a student with an IQ of 126 whose head was entirely filled with "water". A brain scan showed that the student's brain was merely an outer layer, only one millimetre thick. How can a person function with virtually no brain? Lourber, who specializes in hydrocephalis ("water on the brain") replies that he has come across many cases of perfectly normal people whose heads are filled with 95 per cent of fluid, and that 70 to 90 per cent is actually quite common. — Colin Wilson

A physicist visits a colleague and notices a horseshoe hanging on the wall above the entrance. 'Do you really believe that a horseshoe brings luck?' he asks. 'No,' replies the colleague, 'but I've been told that it works even if you don't believe in it.' — Niels Bohr

Luke! ... We have to be able to do cool dancing so we don't embarrass our child!"
"I'm a very cool dancer," replies Luke. "Very cool indeed,"
"No you're not!"
"I had dance lessons in my teens, you know," he retorts. "I can waltz like Fred Astire."
"Waltz?" I echo derisively. "That's not cool! We need to know all the street moves. Watch me."
I do a couple funky head-wriggle body-pop maneuvers, like they do on rap videos. When I look up, Luke is gaping at me.
"Sweetheart," he says. "What are you doing?"
"It's hip-hop!" I say. "It's street!"
"Becky! Love!" Mum has pushed her way through her dancing guests to reach me. "What's wrong? Has labour started?"
Honestly. My family has no idea about contemporary urban steet dance trends. — Sophie Kinsella

The Reed Flute's Work
I say to the reed flute, You do the work,
yet you know sweet secrets too.
You share the Friend's breathing.
What could you need from me?
The reed replies, Knowledge is total
destruction. I say, Burn me completely then
and leave no knowing.
How could I, when it's knowledge that leads us?
But this knowledge has lost compassion
and grown disgusted with itself.
It has forgotten about silence and emptiness.
A reed flute has nine holes
and is a model of human consciousness,
beheaded, though still in love with lips.
This is your disgrace, this moaning.
Weep for the sounds you make. — Rumi

Renton asks the cop: 'But what did ye say tae get him tae come back inside?' The officer replies: 'I just told him that no matter how bad it all seemed right now, it's just part and parcel of being young. That it gets easier.' 'Does it?' Renton asks, and the policeman shakes his head: 'Does it fuck; it gets bleeding worse. All that happens is that the expectations you have of life fall. You just get used to all the shit.' But what if you can't get used to it? The officer shrugs: 'Well, that window's still gonna be there. — Irvine Welsh

And I will add this point of merely personal experience of humanity: when men have a real explanation they explain it, eagerly and copiously and in common speech, as Huxley freely gave it when he thought he had it. When they have no explanation to offer, they give short dignified replies, disdainful of the ignorance of the multitude. — Gilbert K. Chesterton

O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes;
Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching Earth;
Lie close around her; leave no room for mirth
With its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs.
She hath no questions, she hath no replies. — Jeffrey Eugenides

If I do I will secure for you ringside seats." Remus busies himself with looking busy. "Perhaps your future lies in the fine art of divination."
"Now that," Sirius says, "is a flat-out ridiculous waste of time."
"You're only saying that," Remus replies vaguely, "because you only ever see drapery in your crystal ball."
"The professor says they're veils," Sirius mutters. "There's no need to bring that rubbish up again, now is there. — Jaida Jones

When they do, I reach up, laying my hand on his cheek. Our kisses turn heated. My legs squeeze Honey Badger's sides, causing him to trot ahead next to Wayra. When Trey notices, he has to rein in our spix, breaking our kiss. We both look over at Wayra, who is smirking at us. He nods his head in greeting to Trey. "Sir." Trey nods back. "Wayra.""Did you need something, sir?" Wayra asks with amusement in his tone. "No. I have everything I need," he replies. "Carry on." Trey pulls us back behind Wayra once more.
Bartol, Amy A. (2015-03-31). Sea of Stars (The Kricket Series Book 2) (pp. 241-242). 47North. Kindle Edition. — Amy A. Bartol

Andrew Carnegie, the poverty-stricken Scotch lad who started to work at two cents an hour and finally gave away $365 million, learned early in life that the only way to influence people is to talk in terms of what the other person wants. He attended school only four years; yet he learned how to handle people. To illustrate: His sister-in-law was worried sick over her two boys. They were at Yale, and they were so busy with their own affairs that they neglected to write home and paid no attention whatever to their mother's frantic letters. Then Carnegie offered to wager a hundred dollars that he could get an answer by return mail, without even asking for it. Someone called his bet; so he wrote his nephews a chatty letter, mentioning casually in a postscript that he was sending each one a five-dollar bill. He neglected, however, to enclose the money. Back came replies by return mail thanking "Dear Uncle Andrew" for his kind note and - you can finish the sentence yourself. — Dale Carnegie

Achilles replies that there is no equality of right between the
weak and the strong, for men have never made pacts with lions nor
have lambs and wolves ever shared the same desires. This was the law of the heroic gentes, based on the belief that the strong were of a different and more noble nature than the weak. Hence arose that law of war through which, by force of arms, the victors deprive the defeated of all their rights of natural liberty, so that the Romans took them
as slaves in place of material things. — Giambattista Vico