Quotes About Concealment

The wheels of language run so smoothly that one rarely bothers to stop and think about all the resourcefulness and expertise that must have gone into making it tick. Language conceals its art.

Patience is the art of concealing your impatience.

But the burden of appearing to be fine, so as to keep others from worrying about her, was almost worse than simply allowing herself to feel bad would have been.

If you scream, you're marked "insane." But silence is a place in which to scream!

A secret should be kept a secret," murmured Conan Doyle, now picking up crumbs from his plate with his forefinger. "Once it is no longer a secret, it becomes a serpent—it goes where it will.

We are criminals and we do not know how to express or prove that we are criminals. The problem is that if, as criminals, we were recognized as such, we would have to pay for the crime. Yet if we paid, the crime would disappear and our debt would be wiped out. We must keep our crime in order to keep our crime safe, to avoid the terrible fate of being forgiven.

Let some things remain mysterious.

A trick does not fool the eye but fools the brain. In order to do that, it must be performed so that the secret parts are not noticed.

What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve about.

Destinele invizibile se pot masca în eÈ™ecuri vizibile.

I am stuck inside the mask I wear. I want to be unashamed. I want to be unafraid. "There is a face beneath this mask, but it isn't me. I'm no more that face, I am whatever was left of the real me that fades a little more every day.

I smile all the time so that nobody knows how sad and lonely I really am.

People don't fake depression they fake being ok. Remember that.

I'm standing in Wal- mart, I hear something inside my body. The noise is coming up, coming out, of the broken place, in my face. If I let the noise get out into the air, it will be laughter, too loud, too much of it, someone is bound to hear.

The deepest secret nobody knows, is the only thing that ever has been real.

I'm standing in the dark. I hear something inside my body. The noise is coming up, coming out, of the broken place, in my face. If I let the noise get out into the air, it will be laughter, too loud, too much of it, someone is bound to hear.

You can keep as quiet as you like, but who are you hiding from if it isn't yourself?

Maybe there were things in themselves men should not look at, just as there were things in the very deep bottom of the sea that it was better that men did not know about.

In crisis, the Old Army maxim ran, seek refuge in anonymity.

For all their faults. I am passing out. O bitter ending! I'll slip away before they're up. They'll never see. Nor know. Nor miss me.

There's no-one as blind as the fellow that won't see, if you know what that means.

The embalmer opened the coffin to check on the body. Lincoln's face was turning darker by the day, which the embalmers tried to conceal by coating the skin with chalk-white potions.

I would almost forget about Ida Durbin. But a sin of omission, if indeed that's what it was, can be like the rusty head of a hatchet buried in the heartwood of a tree -- it eventually finds the teeth of a whirling saw blade.

I always had the sense that Desmond was trying to shrink inside his clothes, as though both fear and a great sadness lived inside him.