Quotes About Muted

There was nothing I could say, so I said nothing.

He wasn't a talkative man to begin with, and in all aspects of life—as though it were a kind of mouth infection he wanted to avoid catching—he never talked about his feelings.

The people everyone complains about and no one wants to help.

I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken

I sometimes feel that I have nothing to say and I want to communicate this.

He liked walls the color of some creature's muted underside or the soft inner petal of a plant, slippery leather banquettes and a silky curl of gravlax served on a slick white plate.

The ostriches were like messengers who had learned their vital message by heart, but whose vocal chords had been slit by the enemy, so that when they finally reached their goal, all they could do was move their mouths.

There is music playing somewhere but I can't hear it.

I haven't the knack of being colorful.

It's too quiet, Barrons growls. I concur. The hush that accompanies a once-in-a-century snowstorm, when the world is so densely carpeted with feet and feet of drifts that it mutes all acoustics and makes you feel like you might be the only person alive, muzzles the land.

He was a muted egomaniac—he tried to keep his grandiosity under cover—but an egomaniac nonetheless.

Autumn wins you best by this its mute Appeal to sympathy for its decay.

the ground. Even his mouth was tied so that he couldn't

I like to look put together without trying too hard. I don't want to look as if God's made another rainbow - I prefer muted, autumnal colours, like most fading redheads.

Blessed is the man who has come to know that our muted thoughts are our sweetest thoughts. "Blessed is the man who, from the blackest depths, can see the luminous figure of LOVE, and seeing, sing; and singing, say: Sweeter far than uttered lays are the thoughts I have of you.

the marginal minute of the dark when the grove is still mute, save for one prophetic bird who sings with a clear-voiced conviction that he at least knows the correct time of day, the rest preserving silence as if equally convinced that he is mistaken.

Galway is one of those cities where sound carries along the breeze like the faintest whisper of prayers you never said, muted but present.

Orange? Like Effie's hair?" I say. "A bit more muted," he says. "More like sunset.

I like the muted sounds, the shroud of grey, and the silence that comes with fog.

Some scythe robes were bright, some more muted. They looked like the rich, flowing robes of Renaissance angels, both heavy yet lighter than air.

I realised that everyone and everything out there had a story, and that most stories would never be told.

Switters was actually quite fond of Seattle's weather, and not merely because of it's ambivalence. He liked it's subtle, muted qualities and the landscape that those qualities encouraged if not engendered: vistas that seemed to have been sketched with a sumi brush dipped in quicksilver and green tea. It was fresh, it was clean, it was gently primal, and mystically suggestive.

The city has seasons, but they're muted, and the transition of summer to fall to winter has more to do with changing temperatures than it does with the leaves turning, or the trees getting bare, or the grass going from brown to green, or getting older.

I wanted to say a lot of things, but, as usual, I didn't have the words for the thoughts inside my head.