Of course our talks have gotten shorter. And even our sentences are shorter. Your one sentence charms my thoughts for week, and mine, yours. This is language at home, in the garden of paradise. Words are food.
Think of the desert, and how the monks were not silent but were succinct. The cenobitic rule of silence is but a poorly-understood memory of conversation in the desert.
Notice how we do sit in silence a long time before we speak. The sun is going down and outside the voices of evening birds seem from under pillows.