Quotes About Silence

Romantic Egoist: The thing is... it seems like you'd like to say something, but just can't.

It's past midnight and very silent and I'm probably keeping the night doorman awake as well as Lota, and a mystery man across the garden who sits up all night with three bright lights on, as if giving himself a 3rd degree--only he always does seem to be awake & alone. Tonight he did something very strange for a while--and finally we saw that he was (silently) playing a cello.

Do you wish people to believe good of you? Don't speak.

Some say silence is golden, I choose noise!

Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves The feet of angels bright; Unseen they pour blessing, And joy without ceasing, On each bud and blossom, And each sleeping bosom.

Well?" the man shouted. "With or against?" No one replied, and

While money doesn't talk, it swears.

Money doesn't talk, it swears.

At every moment where language can't go, that's your mind.

Freeing oneself from words is liberation.

y por eso todos los inquisidores del mundo queman los libros en vano, porque cuando un libro comunica algo válido, su ritmo silencioso persiste incluso mientras lo devoran las llamas, y es que un verdadero libro siempre indica algún camino nuevo que conduce más allá de sí mismo.

los verdaderos pensamientos provienen del exterior, (...) por eso todos los inquisidores del mundo queman los libros en vano, porque cuando un libro comunica algo válido, su ritmo silencioso persiste incluso mientras lo devoran las llamas, y es que un verdadero libro siempre indica algún camino nuevo que conduce más allá de sí mismo.

Kora?ao am, a nitko se nije pojavljivao,niti na putu, niti na prozorima, niti na balkonima, bilo je tiho, samo se u zraku ?uo šum vjetra koji je mirisao i kojega se dalo jesti poput sladoleda, poput nevidljivog tucanog snijega, bezmalo se mogao jesti žli?icom, imao sam dojam da, kada bih si uz njega uzeo pecivo ili komad kruha, da bih ga se mogao najesti skoro kao mlijeka.

When reporters asked Nixon about Martin Luther King, Jr., being in jail, Nixon said, "No comment.

Her momentary awakening can be called a "glimpse of freedom" or a "touch of grace." Many who experience it feel distressed when it passes, but its transience can offer encouragement to keep entering the silence of meditation

There's stuff you can learn from people who don't tell you anything. Like how not to react when there is a crisis. Like how to stay still and maybe even unearth levity from the seriousness of a situation. Edge is the silence inside every noise. He's the light inside the paint.

There's stuff you can learn from people who don't tell you anything.

It's an extraordinary thing, the moment of surrender. To get down on your knees and ask the silence to save you, to reveal itself to you. To kneel down, to implore, to throw yourself out into space, to quietly whisper or roar your insignificance. To fall prostrate and ask to be carried. To humble yourself with your family, your bandmates, and to discover if there's a face or a name to that silence.

Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding.

My experience with them, as well as other events in my life, convince me that the thing to do, when one feels sure that he has said or done the right thing, and is condemned, is to stand still and keep quiet. If he is right, time will show it.

The maple-bordered street was as still as a country Sunday; so quiet that there seemed an echo to my footsteps. It was four o'clock in the morning; clear October moonlight misted through the thinning foliage to the shadowy sidewalk and lay like a transparent silver fog upon the house of my admiration, as I strode along, returning from my first night's work on the "Wainwright Morning Despatch.

It snowed and snowed, the whole world over,Snow swept the world from end to end.A candle burned on the table;A candle burned.

It was astounding to Cornelius to note that the events of 1994 had left no visible traces anywhere. Where on this avenue had they set up the famous Nyamirambo barricade? Was it there, right at the entrance to the Café des Grands Lacs, where there had been corpses that dogs and vultures came to devour? Only the city herself could have answered these questions he still couldn't ask anyone. But the city refused to show her wounds. Besides, she didn't have many.

None but those who have loved can be supposed to understand the oratory of the eye, the mute eloquence of a look, or the conversational powers of the face. Love's sweetest meanings are unspoken; the full heart knows no rhetoric of words, and resorts to the pantomime of sighs and glances.