Quotes About Silence

I wouldn't agree with some of the things that the press writes about and that's all I have to say about that.

Nothing matters but the writing. There has been nothing else worthwhile... a stain upon the silence.

Sometimes, what's not said is just as important to the writing as what is said. As a writer, we have our voices heard. I think that, at oftentimes, the ability to allow the dialogue to recede properly into the world of the film is also a really valid sort of way to be a writer, I think.

People love talking about writers as storytellers, but I hate being called that: it suggests I got it from my grandmother or something, when my writing really comes out of silence. If a storyteller came up to me, I'd run away.

What goes unnamed remains hard to correct.

Hush, child don't ask personal questions, said the Lion. That's the only kind I have, said Rain.

If you have an ancestor who is a Benedictine monk, we would rather not know it.

It seems there is no shortage of regret among the young — but then, they are young, they make mistakes. They have time to correct them and the courage to admit their failings aloud. Adults should try it. But frankly, I think it's a miracle that adults can manage to speak to one another at all, and that the entire species doesn't take a universal vow of silence. Some days I wish it would.

Horrors," said Elphaba. It was her first word, and it was greeted with silence. Even the moon, a lambent bowl among the trees, seemed to pause.

I went online to compare different colors of noise. White encompassed all audible frequencies and reminded me of TV static; pink was a mix of frequencies, with reduced higher frequencies, with a sound closer to ocean waves or falling rain; brown sounded lower, with the hint of a rumble, like a strong wind; blue was higher, with a hissing quality, like water spraying from a hose; green supposedly captured the background sound of nature; black noise was…silence.

Sometimes words only diminish what I want to convey.

I tried to discover, in the rumor of forests and waves, words that other men could not hear, and I pricked up my ears to listen to the revelation of their harmony.

In my view, the novelist has no right to express his opinions on the things of this world. In creating, he must imitate God: do his job and then shut up.

Perhaps she would have liked to confide all these things to someone. But how tell an undefinable uneasiness, variable as the clouds, unstable as the winds? Words failed her—the opportunity, the courage.

There comes a point at which you stop writing and think all the more

et l'ennui, araignée silencieuse, filait sa toile dans l'ombre, à tous les coins de son coeur.

but now the love of Charles for Emma seemed to her a desertion from her tenderness, an encroachment upon what was hers, and she watched her son's happiness in sad silence, as a ruined man looks through the windows at people dining in his old house.

privea spre cer cu ochi plini de blesteme; dar nici m?car o frunz? nu se clinti din aceast? pricin?.

The head-master made a sign to us to sit down. Then, turning to the class-master, he said to him in a low voice—

Des doutes succédaient à leurs emportements d'espoir. Après des crises de gaieté verbeuse, ils tombaient dans des silences profonds.

Desde los cincuenta, ya no representó ninguna edad. Y, siempre silenciosa, erguido el talle y mesurados los ademanes, parecía una mujer de madera que funcionara automáticamente.

Liefdes' adem was getogen door de mazen van het weefsel; in iedere steek van de naald had zich een verwachting of een herinnering vastgelegd; en al die dooreengewerkte zijden draden waren één groot getuigenis van die gestadige stille hartstocht.

La pluie ne tombait plus ; le jour commençait à venir, et, sur les branches des pommiers sans feuilles, des oiseaux se tenaient immobiles, hérissant leurs petites plumes au vent froid du matin.

No tempo da sra. Dubuc, a velha senhora se sentia ainda como a preferida; mas, agora, o amor de Charles por Emma lhe parecia uma deserção de sua ternura, uma invasão do que lhe pertencia; e ela observava a felicidade do filho com um silêncio triste, como alguém arruinado olha, através da vidraça , pessoas à mesa em sua antiga casa.