Sometimes I say things I shouldn't. I guess I'm too outspoken.

Speaking much also is a sign of vanity; for he that is lavish in words is a niggard in deeds.

I've been accused of vulgarity. I say that's bullshit.

I talk too much because I have been made so miserable by what you are keeping hushed.

We no longer have a sufficiently high estimate of ourselves when we communicate. Our true experiences are not garrulous. They could not communicate themselves if they wanted to: they lack words. We have already grown beyond whatever we have words for. In all talking there lies a grain of contempt. Speech, it seems, was devised only for the average medium, communicable. The speaker has already vulgarized himself by speaking.

I regret it when I suppress my feelings too long and they burst forth in ways that are distorted or attacking or hurtful.

The show becomes about your personal life if you talk about it too much.

Say too soon what you think and you will say what everyone else thinks.

You talk too damn much and too damn much of it is about you.

Thee will find out in time that I have a great love of professing vile sentiments, I don't know why, unless it springs from long efforts to avoid priggery.

Arrogant, pompous, obnoxious, vain, cruel, persecuting, distasteful, verbose, a show off. There's no question that I'm all of those things.

Pleasure is often spoiled by describing it.

Verbosity leads to unclear, inarticulate things.

The facts at hand presumably speak for themselves, but a trifle more vulgarly, I suspect, than facts even usually do.