Quotes About Silence

We've worn our words to death, when now I say: my love, nothing happens, absolutely nothing. And yet, before the words were spent, I'm certain that everything trembled at the mere murmur of your name in the silence of my heart. Now we have nothing to give. There is nothing within you that asks me for water. The past is useless as a rag. And I've told you already: the words are spent. Good-bye.

It's urgent-love. It's urgent- a boat upon the sea. It's urgent to destroy certain words, hate, solitude, and cruelty, some mornings, many swords. It's urgent to invent a joyfulness, multiply kisses and cornfields, discover roses and rivers and glistening mornings- it's urgent. Silence and an impure light fall upon our shoulders till they ache. It's urgent- love, it's urgent to endure.

Any understanding of God that doesn't take into account God's silence is a half truth — in effect, a cruel distortion — and leaves us vulnerable to manipulation and exploitation by leaders who are quite willing to fill in the biblical blanks with what the Holy Spirit never tells us.

Silence, he told us, was hugely undervalued in our American way of life as a way of being in communion with one another and with God. American Christians were conspicuously deficient. "Think of it as remedial silence." This would be three days for practicing silence. "These might be the quietest three days you will ever spend. Don't waste them.

I don't believe in saying anything unless there's something to say. As time goes on, the less I speak. Boredom, depression, equanimity.

La poesía cruza la tierra sola, / Apoya su voz en el dolor del mundo y nada pide / —ni siquiera palabras. / Llega de lejos y sin hora, nunca avisa; / Tiene la llave de la puerta. / Al entrar siempre se detiene a mirarnos. / Después abre su mano y nos entrega / Una flor, un guijarro, o algo secreto, / Pero tan intenso que el corazón palpita / Demasiado veloz. Y despertamos.

We had been arguing for hours and it was dark in the room. We sat silently on the couch, I was tapping my foot against the table. He glanced at the green digital glow of the clock. "2:05 is beautiful," he said. I looked, and it was.

She talks to herself as she hollows out a stoneware bowl. She is saying something about containment. She talks to her dogs and to the chickens. She has said so many things that have gone unheard. Off the record. Mother:

He thinks I don't pay attention. He has been talking and I have been silently naming the scents of everything we are crushing under our feet as we walk.

I was shaking when I asked my mother, "Do you think you eat enough?" She was silent for a long time until she said quietly, "That is between me and God.

We drove past our old house," the woman told me, "and I noticed that the tree he had watered through the droughts and cared for over the years had been cut down. He must have noticed too. I didn't say anything. I thought, 'I won't talk about it until he does,' but he didn't say a word.

Silence is true wisdom's best reply.

Question everything. Learn something. Answer nothing.

This is slavery, not to speak one's thought.

Your very silence shows you agree.

I sat with him for three hours and we did not exchange a single word. At the end he handed me, as he had done before, an envelope with money in it. It would have been much nicer if he had enclosed a greeting or a loving word. I would have been so pleased if he had.

I'm writing a story in my journal, and I'm searching for a true voice. I make my way through layers of acquired voices, silly voices, sententious voices, voices that are too cool and too overheated. Then they all quiet down, and I reach what I'm searching for: silence.

Would you like me to stop talking? Because I can. I have to concentrate, but it's possible

I'm sorry you never got my note that night," said Minty. "I was arranging for us to go and live with them. You'll like that, won't you?" she asked Maia. Maia was silent, looking down at her plate. "Of course she will," jeered Finn. "Sergei will be able to kneel at her feet like a person in a book.

And the man then said Oh, please: Just let me know if you come upon bark textures that recall the erosion patterns of human hope...And then he disappeared behind a tree...and the forest fell into silence...

Instead of healing the past with words, he and Helen had reached a point where words were suddenly too dangerous to be used.

When I hug trees, the bark marks my cheek and reminds me I'm alive. Or that my nervous system is still intact. The trees breathe all the time and no one really notices. They take in all the air we choke on. They live and die in silence. So I hug them. Someone should.

I answer that I cannot answer.

The trees breathe all the time and no one really notices. They take in the air we choke on. They live and die in silence. So I hug them. Someone should.