Quotes About Silence

Melinda, Mr. Freeman says. Snow filters into the car and melts on the dashboard. You're a good kid. I think you have a lot to say. I'd like to hear it. I close the door.

Hawthorne wanted snow to symbolize cold, that's what I think. Cold and silence. Nothing quieter than snow. The sky screams to deliver it, a hundred banshees flying on the edge of the blizzard. But once the snow covers the ground, it hushes as still as my heart.

THE SUFFRAGETTES FOUGHT FOR THE RIGHT TO SPEAK. THEY WERE ATTACKED, ARRESTED, AND THROWN IN JAIL FOR DARING TO DO WHAT THEY WANTED. LIKE THEY WERE, I AM WILLING TO STAND UP FOR WHAT I BELIEVE. NO ONE SHOULD BE FORCED TO GIVE SPEECHES. I CHOOSE TO STAY SILENT.

I'd love to stay and chat, but my feet won't let me. I walk home instead of taking the bus. I unlock the front door and walk straight up to my room, across the rug, and into my closet without even taking off my backpack. When I close the closet door behind me, I bury my face into the clothes on the left side of the rack, clothes that haven't fit for years. I stuff my mouth with old fabric and scream until there are no sounds left under my skin.

We're all afraid to talk about what stares at us from the dark.

Laurie Halse Anderson

I'm one of those people who never knows what to say, so I say nothing. Then people think I am a snob. Or if I do say something, half the time I blurt out the wrong thing and embarrass myself.

The whole point of not talking about it, of silencing the memory, is to make it go away. It won't.

Nothing. It all sounds stupid.

I need to study David Petrakis. His actions speak louder than word. I've never heard a more eloquent silence.

when people don't express themselves, they die one piece at a time

I felt it was for this I had come: to wake at dawn on a hillside and look out on a world for which I had no words, to start at the beginning, speechless and without plan, in a place that still had no memories for me.

The house was still, weighty with the comfort of a thousand books.

I have decided to leave Clea's last letter un-answered. I no longer wish to coerce anyone, to make promises, to think of life in terms of compacts, resolutions, covenants. It will be up to Clea to interpret my silence according to her own needs and desires, to come to me if she has need or not, as the case may be. Does not everything depend on our interpretation of the silence around us?

What do you believe? You never say anything. At the most you sometimes laugh.

If she ever knew me at all she must later have discovered that for those of us who feel deeply and who are at all conscious of the inextricable tangle of human thought there is only one response to be made—ironic tenderness and silence.

My friends must all have known all along. Yet nobody breathed a word. But of course, the truth is that nobody ever does breathe a word, nobody interferes, nobody whispers while the acrobat is on the tight-rope; they just sit and watch the spectacle, waiting only to be wise after the event.

We were like mourners at an invisible cenotaph during the two minutes' silence which commemorates an irremediable failure of the human will.

only there, in the silences of the painter or the writer can reality be reordered, reworked and made to show its significant side.

Minds dismembered by their sexual part' Balthazar had said once 'never find peace until old age and failing power as persuade them that silence and quietness are not hostile.

But is there a friendship possible to attain which is deeper, even limitlessly deep, and yet wordless, idealess? It seems somehow necessary to find a human being to whom one can be faithful, not in the body (I leave that to the priests) but in the culprit mind?

am recalling now how during that last spring (forever) we walked together at full moon, overcome by the soft dazed air of the city, the quiet ablutions of water and moonlight that polished it like a great casket. An aerial lunacy among the deserted trees of the dark squares, and the long dusty roads reaching away from midnight to midnight, bluer than oxygen.

DüÅŸünürün görevi düÅŸünceler ileri sürmektir, oysa azizin iÅŸi susmak, bulduÄŸu ÅŸeyi söylememektir.

for those of us who feel deeply and who are at all conscious of the inextricable tangle of human thought there is only one response to be made — ironic tenderness and silence.