Quotes About Silence

No, because I am not a ventriloquist.

It's a landscape that controls you, sits you down and says, Shut up, pal, I'm in charge here.

I kept driving straight on toward what we called home and could not say aloud the words that were thrashing me, as if somehow by remaining silent I could keep the terrible thing from having occurred.

Frank was silent for a moment. He said, "It's supposed to snow this weekend, according to the Channel Five guy, Tom Messner.

Before you lose your children, you can talk about it-as a possibility, I mean [...] But when the thing that you only imagined actually happens, you quickly discover that you can barely speak of it. Your story is jumbled and mumbled, out of sync and unfocused. At least that's how it has been for me.

The silence sat down with them like an invisible creature with its finger to its lips.

They had run out of words.... Then he and the Lamp were gone.... Ruse swallowed hard and then began counting bones again in the dark. Then when he reached the right elbow he stopped, and started counting suspects.

He would sit singing, his cheeks turning red above his whiskers; but his voice always came out deep and steady, like the sound of long ago, if long ago could make a sound instead of being forever lost and silent.

A secret of growth is to never lose sight of the quiet place within you, the silent harbor of the Lord's presence. Enjoy your memories from days of old, but prize nothing more than the Lord and the value He places on each day.

Books will always have the last word, even if nobody is around to read them.

When you beat a drum, you create NOW, when silence becomes a sound so enormous and alive it feels like you're breathing in the clouds and the sky, and your heart is the rain and the thunder.

Sometimes you don't need words to say what's in your heart.

When you beat a drum, you create NOW, when silence becomes a sound so enormous and alive it feels like you're breathing in the clouds and the sky, and your heart is the rain and the thunder. Jiko says that this is an example of the time being. Sound and no-sound. Thunder and silence.

Sometimes you don't need words to say what's in your heart.

Finally I achieved my goal and resolved my childhood obsession with now because that's what a drum does. When you beat a drum, you create NOW, when silence becomes a sound so enormous and alive it feels like you're breathing in the clouds and the sky, and your heart is the rain and the thunder. Jiko says that this is an example of the time being. Sound and no-sound. Thunder and silence.

Waited for the Library to settle into the deep, dark silence of slumbering books, and words tucked in between their covers for the night.

it took me a while to learn how to tune my ears so I could hear the Unmade things over all the noise that the Made things were making.

The weather was gray, the streets filled with that Sunday morning silence that makes you feel like everybody else is home with people that they love.

having nothing better to do, meandered off to a coffee shop and sat facing each other for a couple of hours, neither of them talking much but each coming to the general conclusion that the other was a person rather like himself...

Even now I occasionally get a long letter from Kimiko, who's still in and out of mental hospitals. I've never written a reply. The Last Picture Show Iwas eighteen.

Sería muy interesante que alguien investigara en qué medida los sistemas de comunicación de masas trabajan al servicios de la información y hasta qué punto al servicio del silencio. ¿Qué abunda más, lo que se dice o lo que se calla?

Need on ainukesed hetked, kui ma olen tundnud tõeist üksindust: seistes ihuüksi silmitsi karistamatu vägivallaga. Maailm tühjeneb, vaikib, sureb välja ning kaob.

El silencio así, en demasía, me parece un exceso gravoso, tanto como el griterío en balde.

Great Shakespeare!, you who can say everything, everything, everything exactly as it is – and yet why was this torment one you never gave voice to? Was it perhaps that you kept it to yourself, like the beloved whose name one still cannot bear the world to mention? For a poet buys this power of words to utter all the grim secrets of others at the cost of a little secret he himself cannot utter.