Quotes About Silence

A wise man once said nothing.

Drama dies without an audience

When you can write music that endures, bravo. Until then, keep quiet and study the work of those who can.

You can't argue with the dead, no matter what you say, they always have the last word.

She wanted to scream her grief to the skies and wail like an animal, but she couldn't.

Cry your grief to God. Howl to the heavens. Tear your shirt. Your hair. Your flesh. Gouge your eyes. Carve out your heart. And what will you get from Him? Only Silence. Indifference.

Lots of things are true. Doesn't mean you have to go around saying them.

The sky had no answer for her.

I try to think of something to say. Something nice, but not so wildly untrue that I'll embarrass the both of us by saying it. But it's too late. The door slams. The sound echoes through the room. He's gone. Once again.

Asking questions, demanding explanations—these things always led to trouble. The moment a girl learned how to talk, she was told not to.

Sometimes, Belle, our troubles are too deep for words

Stop yelling. If everyone's yelling, no one can be heard.

Cry your grief to God. Howl to the heavens. Tear your shirt. Your hair. Your flesh. Gouge out your eyes. Carve out your heart. And what will you get from Him? Only silence. Indifference. But merely stand looking at the playbills, sighing because your name is not on them, and the devil himself appears at your elbow full of sympathy and suggestions. And that's why I did it....Because God loves us, but the devil takes an interest.

No, I didn't remember the deer. Is the deer okay?' 'Fuck the deer. Hush now.

I had wanted something from him. Even expected a confrontation. To be ignored was a sentence without a period.

Shut up. I'm drunk and I'm trying to confess, so just let me do it, okay?

What do you write in those forms?" I asked. "Nothing. I just do this to look threatening.

That's what death is, Danny thought: wanting to talk to someone and not being able to.

They sat in silence. Feathers, Phoebe thought, searching in vain for some moment of her own that could rival the beauty and mystery of Faith's act. She felt a disappointment so familiar it was almost a comfort.

What moved Ted, mashed some delicate glassware in his chest, was the quiet of their interaction, the absence of drama or tears as they gazed at each other, touching gently.

I was peeling apart in layers. I was breaking into bits. She was coming apart at the seams … my head buzzing with a confusion of junk noise, white noise, space junk, a junkyard of noisy thought that made me long instead for a lovely, petaled silence.

He sensed between them an understanding too deep to articulate: the unspeakable knowledge that everything is lost.

Silence after a roaring motor is a sound of its own.

The problem was precision, perfection; the problem was digitization, which sucked the life out of everything that got smeared through its microscopic mesh. Film, photography, music: dead. An aesthetic holocaust! Bennie knew better than to say this stuff aloud.