Quotes About Silence

The more you talk about It and the more you think about It, the further from It you go; stop talking, stop thinking and there is nothing you will not understand.

This November there seems to be nothing to say.

Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks.

My poems only come when I have almost lost the ability to utter a word. To speak, in a way, of the unspeakable.

And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself, counting this row and that row of moccasins waiting on the silent shelf.

From the Garden" Come, my beloved, consider the lilies. We are of little faith. We talk too much. Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks. Let us consider the view: a house where white clouds decorate the muddy halls. Oh, put away your good words and your bad words. Spit out your words like stones! Come here! Come here! Come eat my pleasant fruits.

You fell, she said, just remember you fell. I fell, is all he told the doctors in the big hospital. A nice lady came and asked him questions but because he didn't want to be sent away he said, I fell. He never said anything else although he could talk fine.

Someone is dead.  Even the trees know it

Do you like me?" No answer. Silence bounced, fell off his tongue and sat between us and clogged my throat. It slaughtered my trust. It tore cigarettes out of my mouth. We exchanged blind words, and I did not cry, I did not beg, but blackness filled my ears, blackness lunged in my heart, and something that had been good, a sort of kindly oxygen, turned into a gas oven.

Is it not true, then, that my life with all its limitation touches at many points the life of the World Beautiful? Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be, therein to be content.

It snowed right before Jack stopped talking to Hazel, fluffy white flakes big enough to show their crystal architecture, like perfect geometric poems.

The words kept coming and he could not stop them, not while Callie was standing there so indecipherably, and so he was going to keep talking until he used up all the words there were and then no one would be able to talk to anyone else anymore and then all anyone would have left were one another's unintelligible faces, and maybe some weird gesturing, too, and it would be all Oscar's fault.

Et, quand vous ne pouvez pas raconter, vous avez l'impression de mourir d'étouffement.

Orféus s'approcha, tout près. Il y eut un silence. Malva ferma les yeux et, avec une douceur infinie, Orféus posa ses lèvres sur les siennes. À cet instant, leurs cœurs devinrent semblables aux étoiles jumelles qui brillaient dans le ciel : deux petites points lumineux au milieu des ténèbres immenses de l'univers.

Writing is done alone. People do not talk about the things they do alone.

Her screams, as always, were silent.

She laughed—and then stopped.

Better remain silent, better not even think, if you are not prepared to act.

We sleep to time's hurdy-gurdy; we wake, if ever we wake, to the silence of God. And then, when we wake to the deep shores of time uncreated, then when the dazzling dark breaks over the far slopes of time, then it's time to toss things, like our reason, and our will; then it's time to break our necks for home. There are no events but thoughts and the heart's hard turning, the heart's slow learning where to love and whom. The rest is merely gossip, and tales for other times.

Neither of us had mentioned the word abortion, not even once. This thing had no place in language.

Todo se borrará en un segundo. El diccionario acumulado de la cuna hasta el lecho de muerte se eliminará. Llegará el silencio y no habrá palabras para decirlo. De la boca abierta no saldrá nada. Ni yo ni mí. La lengua seguirá poniendo el mundo en palabras. En las conversaciones en torno a una mesa familiar seremos tan solo un nombre, cada vez más sin rostro, hasta desaparecer en la masa anónima de una generación remota.

Il silenzio era il sottofondo delle cose e la bicicletta misurava la velocità della vita.

Le temps passait lentement, il ne parlait pas beaucoup, sans que je puisse savoir pourquoi. Il est déjà parti dans sa tête, voilà tout.

A partir de entonces, les he dicho a varios hombres: «Cuando yo estaba a punto de cumplir doce años, mi padre intentó matar a mi madre». El hecho de haber necesitado decírselo demuestra lo unida que me sentía a ellos. Sin embargo, todos se quedaron en silencio después de oírlo. Y yo me daba cuenta de que había cometido un error, de que no estaban preparados para escucharlo.