Quotes About Silence

Quienes más sufren son quienes menos lo dicen.

He sat there for a moment and then said, "Well … I

The Future never spoke— Nor will he like the Dumb Reveal by sign a Syllable Of his profound To Come— But when the News be ripe Presents it in the Act— Forestalling Preparation— Escape—or Substitute EMILY DICKINSON

Listening is always preferable to talking. Let the other remove his veil, as my grandmother used to say. Give your response time to ripen.

The flame of love comes burning through the flute Those who cannot hear its song are mute And cannot of intoxication sing

I thought i could wake up this sleeping country with my cries, but still they sleep as if in a dream.

koe nakaba / sagi koso yuki no / hitotsurane4 If only noiseless they would go, The herons flying by Were but a line of snow Across the sky CHP

If only noiseless they would go, The herons flying by Were but a line of snow Across the sky

mono iwazu / kyaku to teishu to / shiragiku to Saying nothing: Guest and host and white chrysanthemum.

tama ni ge ni / mokut? ya tada / michi no tsuki In spirit and in truth silent prayer . . . just the moon on the road

don't. So there.

It seems I've stopped speaking with my voice. Part of me fell asleep and just watches.

Let us sculpt in hopeless silence all our dreams of speaking.

O resto é a vida que nos deixa, a chama que morre no nosso olhar, a púrpura gasta antes de a vestirmos, a lua que vela o nosso abandono, as estrelas que estendem o seu silêncio sobre a nossa hora de desengano. Assídua a mágoa estéril e amiga que nos aperta o peito com amor. (Meu destino é a decadência)

And suddenly, from behind me, I hear the metaphysically abrupt arrival of the office boy. I feel like I could kill him for barging in on what I wasn't thinking. I turn around and look at him with a silence full of hatred, tense with latent homicide, my mind already hearing the voice he'll use to tell me something or other. He smiles from the other side of the room and says 'Good afternoon' in a loud voice. I hate him like the universe. My eyes are sore from imagining.

I placidly wait for what I don't know- My future and the future of everything. In the end there will only be silence except Where the waves of the sea bathe nothing.

In these random impressions, and with no desire to be other than random, I indifferently narrate my fact-less autobiography, my lifeless history. These are my Confessions, and if in them I say nothing, it's because I have nothing to say.

Circondati di rose, ama, bevi e taci. Il resto è niente.

El corazón, si pudiese pensar, se pararía.

No hables... sucedes demasiado... me apena estar viéndote.

Everything was sleeping as if the universe were a mistake.

We don't even know if what ends with daylight terminates in us as useless grief, or if we are just an illusion among shadows, and reality just this vast silence without wild ducks that falls over the lakes where straight and stiff reeds swoon. We know nothing. Gone is the memory of the stories we heard as children, now so much seaweed; still to come is the tenderness of future skies, a breeze in which imprecision slowly opens into stars.

E eu que só oiço o ruído calado do sangue que há na minha vida dos dois lados da cabeça.

Right now I have so many fundamental thoughts, so many truly metaphysical things to say that I suddenly feel tired, and I've decided to write no more, think no more. I'll let the fever of saying put me to sleep instead, and with closed eyes I'll stroke, as if petting a cat, all that I might have said.