Quotes About Silence

ellos ya sabían leer en sus silencios.

el silencio desde donde la música es posible

Nunca habían hablado con esa voz, nunca se habían callado así.

murió María Esther antes que llegáramos a comprometernos. Entramos en los cuarenta años con la inexpresada idea de que el nuestro, simple y silencioso matrimonio de hermanos, era necesaria clausura de la genealogía asentada por nuestros bisabuelos en nuestra casa.

respirando confundidos, las bocas se encuentran y luchan tibiamente, mordiéndose con los labios, apoyando apenas la lengua en los dientes, jugando en sus recintos donde un aire pesado va y viene con un perfume viejo y un silencio.

La guitarra en el ropero para siempre está colgada, nadie en ella toca nada ni hace sus cuerdas sonar.

No era difícil imaginar el diálogo, pero si hubiese estado solo con Hélène ella no me hubiera dicho eso, probablemente no me hubiera dicho nada, atenta y ajena; una vez más la incluía sin derecho, imaginariamente, como un consuelo por tanta distancia y tanto silencio. Ya nada teníamos que decirnos Hélène y yo, que nos habíamos dicho tan poco.

Me preguntan qué es lo que veo en ti. Sonrío, agacho la cabeza, y no respondo, porque no quiero que también se enamoren de ti.

El orador estuvo muy bien. No dijo nada y lo vivaron. Era perfecto. Nosotros, los que deberíamos decir algo, aquí estamos como ves hablándonos bajito por miedo a que nos muelan a palos. El orador encaja mucho mejor que nosotros.

La noche queda para quien es

Silence was not the absence of sound but was itself a sound that could be loud or soft, soothing or disturbing, complex or simple.

LISTEN Listening to your heart, finding out who you are, is not simple. It takes time for the chatter to quiet down. In the silence of "not doing" we begin to know what we feel. If we listen and hear what is being offered, then anything in life can be our guide. Listen. —author unknown

Entonces cállate la fucking boca.

Nilda is watching the ground as though she's afraid she might fall. My heart is beating and I think, We could do anything. We could marry. We could drive off to the West Coast. We could start over. It's all possible but neither of us speaks for a long time and the moment closes and we're back in the world we've always known.

I should say something but I don't know where a person can start.

He doesn't speak for a moment, as if the silence is the elastic that will bring his next words forward.

Those last months. No way of wrapping it pretty or pretending otherwise: Rafa was dying. By then it was only me and Mami taking care of him and we didn't know what the fuck to do, what the fuck to say. So we just said nothing. My mom wasn't the effusive type anyway, had one of those event-horizon personalities-shit just fell into her and you never really knew how she felt about it. She just seemed to take it, never gave anything off, not light, not heat.

It's all possible but neither of us speaks for a long time and the moment closes and we're back in the world we've always known.

Stared at the toothpick-thin blackgirl who worked at the Friendly's, whom he was in love with but with whom he would never speak.

The best ones not only hold their own when faced with the noise of the world, they silence it.

the only time she looked straight at anything was when she looked out a window.

Waited for my brother and didn't talk to anybody and nobody talked to her, because she'd always been one of those quiet, semi-retarded girls who you couldn't talk to without being dragged into a whirlpool of dumb stories.

Saw for a brief instant La Inca praying in her room - the silence that lay between them now, stronger than love - and in the gloaming of her dwindling strength there yawned a loneliness so total it was beyond death, a loneliness that obliterated all memory, the loneliness of a childhood where she'd not even had her own name.

I'll give you what I've managed to unearth and the rest will have to wait for the day the páginas en blanco finally speak.