Quotes About Silence

I listen to nothing or classical music just because after being in the studio for twelve hours, the last thing you want to do is listen to anything.

There's nothing to talk about to strangers anymore, if you know what I mean. Everything I want to say, I say to her.

You ask rather too many questions. I have given you answers enough for the present: now I want to read.

When I'm on stage I don't say anything. The last thing I want to do is share my thoughts. I don't know if that's mysterious - maybe it's just old fashioned.

Quiet down, we don't want to wake the Russians.

When it comes to the military, I don't want to discuss things. I want to let - I want to let the action take place before the talk takes place

Let's not talk about how I am. It's a subject I know too much about to want to think about anymore.

Everyone has freedom to say whatever they want to say. I think it takes a stronger person to hold their tongue as opposed to speaking out.

You don't have to do anything to meditate. That's what makes it so difficult. Everybody wants to do something.

Stones make no splash on a frozen lake.

Hands were such extraordinary tools, she mused. Tools, weapons, clumsy and deft, numb and tactile. Among tribal hunters, they could speak, a flurry of gestures eloquent in silence. But they could not taste. Could not hear. Could not weep. For all that, they killed so easily.

A chill crept over Duiker. Even wheeled hospitals carried with them that pervasive atmosphere of fear, the sounds of defiance and the silence of surrender. Mortality's many comforting layers had been stripped away, revealing wracked bones, a sudden comprehension of death that throbbed like an exposed nerve.

When memories have returned, Trull Sengar, solitude is an illusion, for every silence is filled by a clamorous search for meaning.

Peace reigned in silence, inside and out, in isolation and exhaustion.

Are there imbrules here? Stantars? Luthuras – are there luthuras here? Scaly, long grasping tails, eyes like the eyes of purlith bats-' 'No,' Apsalar said. 'None of those creatures.' She frowned. 'Those you have mentioned are of Starvald Demelain.' A momentary silence from the two ghosts, then Curdle snaked along the top of the wall until its eerie face was opposite Apsalar. 'Really? Now, that's a peculiar coincidence-

Words need not be spoken aloud, friend, to prove unwelcome. I but answered my own thoughts.

The things said and the things not said. In the space in between, a thousand worlds. A thousand worlds.

The night draws to an end, the dream dims in the pale silver of awakening. Kruppe ceases, weary beyond reason. Sweat drips down the length of his ratty beard, his latest affectation. A bard sits, head bowed, and in a short time he will say thank you. But for now he must remain silent, and as for the other things he would say, they are between him and Kruppe and none other. Fisher sits, head bowed. While an Elder God weeps. The tale is spun. Spun out. Dance by limb, dance by word. Witness!

Closing in a noose around her neck, the sound blocked the outside world – its air, its light.

If I'd known a lecture was coming, I'd have kept my mouth shut." "Coming to terms with life as an adolescent, are you?

The rush of the river was a voice, a presence. Water flowed indifferent to the heave and plunge of the sun, the shrouded moon and the slow spin of the stars. The sound reached them in a song without words, and all effort to grasp its meaning was hopeless, for, like the water itself, one could not grasp hold of sound. The flow was ceaseless and immeasurable and just as stillness did not in fact exist, so neither did true, absolute silence.

the siren song/called silence

Because true friends knew when to keep silent, to give all the patience needed.

Unwitnessed. There was crime in that notion. A profound injustice against which he railed. In silence. Like every other soldier in the Bonehunters. Maybe. No, I am not mistaken – I see something in their eyes. I can see it. We rail against injustice, yes. That what we do will be seen by no-one. Our fate unmeasured.