Quotes About Silence

In everyday life males and females alike are relatively silent about love. Our silence shields us from uncertainty. We want to know love. We are simply afraid the desire to know too much about love will lead us closer and closer to the abyss of lovelessness.

The wounded child inside many males is a boy who, when he first spoke his truths, was silenced by paternal sadism, by a patriarchal world that did not want him to claim his true feelings. The wounded child inside many females is a girl who was taught from early childhood on that she must become something other than herself, deny her true feelings, in order to attract and please others. When men and women punish each other for truth telling we reinforce the notion that lies are better.

Totalitarianism always starts with restrictions on the rights of others. We must avoid this at all costs. George Washington even said, "If the freedom of speech is taken away, then dumb and silent we may be led, like sheep to the slaughter.

Political correctness has thrown a veil of silence over our important discussions. Rather than asking those with whom we disagree to clearly state their case, we set up rules of political correctness that mandate that their perspective must be the same as ours. We then demonize those with whom we disagree and as a result fail to reach any consensus that might solve our problems.

Proverbs 11:9: Evil words destroy one's friends; wise discernment rescues the godly. Proverbs 11:12: It is foolish to belittle a neighbor; a person with good sense remains silent. Proverbs 11:25: The generous prosper and are satisfied; those who refresh others will themselves be refreshed.

We were at the White House a couple of weeks ago, the man says, they had a state dinner for Prince Charles and Camilla. Listen, those royals are just the finest people, no pretensions to them whatsoever. You can talk to Prince Charles about anything. Billy nods. There's a silence. Just in time he asks, What did you talk about? Hunting, the man answers.

have you not had your morning glass of shut up?

SIR P: Sir, calumnies are answer'd best with silence.

Without sound, celebration and grief look nearly the same.

To refrain from storytelling is perhaps one of the highest forms of respect we can pay. Those people, with no stories to circle them, can die without being misunderstood.

Maybe this was the quiet before the real fucking quiet.

Arsenius always used to say this, 'Why, words, did I let you get out? I have often been sorry that I have spoken, never that I have been silent.

One piece had been titled "Expectant Silence" and consisted of a man sitting at the piano, playing nothing.

A hush fell over the room as the man in black stepped up to the podium.

Nothing is more prejudicial to war than talk.

Silence. We like it when an audience is silent, when no one coughs, no one shuffles, no one cracks a nut, or uncorks an ale bottle with a sudden hiss. Silence means the play is working, and we have the audience in our power. To a player, that breathless silence is better than applause, and that morning in the great hall my audience was silent.

So I woke, I listened, and I heard the small sounds of a wood at night, the things moving, the claws in the dead leaves, the wind's soft sighs.

Nor did he care about his childhood, for certainly I never heard him speak of it. I once questioned him about his early days and he would not answer. 'What is the egg to the eagle?' he asked me…

Nor did he care about his childhood, for certainly I never heard him speak of it. I once questioned him about his early days and he would not answer. 'What is the egg to the eagle?' he asked me, then said he had been born, he had lived and he had become a soldier, and that was all I needed to know. (p97)

If he was still alive, I thought. I knelt to him, then to Osferth, and I left. We walked in silence to a cloistered courtyard where the last roses of summer had dropped their petals on the damp grass. We sat on a stone bench and listened to the mournful chants echoing from the passageway. "The archbishop wanted me dead," I said. "I

Morena como as sombras.

Stout Gudleif kneeled and spiked the shaft of his spear into the ground, then dug into the fresh snow with his hands and formed a snowball. The snow crunched softly as he pressed it. Gudleif looked to Mandred, and the jarl nodded. The snowball flew in a wide arc into the bush. Nothing moved.

So I stopped talking about it. There's no need to talk, because the truth of what one says lies in what one does.

the world would be much happier, if men were as fully able to keep silence as they are to speak.