Quotes About Silence

Wait." He stepped closer. "Listen to me, Scillara." And then he was silent, on his face a war of feelings trying to find words.

Beware the leader who has nothing to lose.' Her people were proud of their wise sayings. And yet now, in their mortal silence, wisdom and pride proved a perfect match in value. Namely: worthless.

This endless howl no one else even hears.

The dead speak in silences and so never leave us in peace.

There's no difference,' he said, 'between speaking aloud or in one's own head – either way, no-one listens.

In those last years, Mappo had heard, Trynigarr, his tongue loosened by drink, had talked often, filling the air with slurred, meaningless words and fragmented remembrances. So many words, not one wise, to fill what had once been the wisest of silences.

If the dead could speak, Clip, what would they tell you?' 'Little, I expect, beyond complaints about this and that.' 'Perhaps, then, that is all you deserve.' 'Oh, I lack honour, do I?' 'I am not sure what you lack,' Silchas Ruin replied, 'but I am certain I will comprehend before we are done.

otherwise." The old man made no reply to that. They walked on in the city's sepulchral silence. The foundation stones and the low ridges of inner walls mapped the floor plans of the buildings to either side.

These were the mysteries of men, so baffling to women. Where silences could become a conjoining of paths. Where a handful of inconsequential words could bind spirits in an ineffable understanding. Forces at play that she could sense, indeed witness, yet ever remaining outside them. Baffled and frustrated and half disbelieving.

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

Starlight played on its swirling surface two hundred paces away. Moths fluttered like flecks of snow fleeing the warm wind. Neither man spoke for a long while.

She is perhaps wiser than we think,' Prazek observed after making a scene of swallowing. 'This sausage mocks the pretence. But,' he added, spearing another piece, 'I am assured that it lodges in the pit of the belly, and remains silent, if not unobtrusive, until the moment of its rebirth into the world.

Kruppe is wise – wise enough to keep silent when silence is called for, and yet wiser still to speak when wise words are required. Wisdom, after all, is Kruppe's blood brother.

Truths, yes. One after another, one boulder settling down, then another. And another. Blotting out the light, darkness closing in, grit and sand sifting down, a solid silence when the last one is in place. Now, dear fool, try drawing a single breath. A single breath. There were clouds closed fast round the moon. And one by one, gardens died.

Truths, yes. One after another, one boulder settling down, then another. And another. Blotting out the light, darkness closing in, grit and sand sifting down, a solid silence when the last one is in place. Now, dear fool, try drawing a breath. A single breath. There were clouds closed fast round the moon. And one by one, gardens died.

Death is stillness. And stillness does not belong among the living. A

Gothos walked into the heart of his city, to where the Jaghut who ruled collectively were all gathered. Among them, to be sure, there were great minds, and many who still held to the ideal of civilization. But then Gothos ascended the central speaker's dais. He began his oration, and when, at last, he was done, he was met with silence. On that day, the Jaghut civilization ended. And in the days that followed, Gothos was named the Lord of Hate.

from a burning tenement block spread an acrid haze that made breathing tortured. They rode through the silent aftermath of slaughter, when the rage has passed and awareness returns with shock and shame. The moment was a single indrawn breath in what Fiddler knew would be an ever-burgeoning wildfire.

And why would a monk slit my throat, Stillwater?' She shrugged. 'Who can figure out the mind of a monk?

She drew him round and settled against him, murmered 'If there is to be a conversation, keep it short, please. What I desire is not answered by words.' Korlat to Whiskeyjack

Fiddler turned in his seat and met his corporal's dark eyes. Trouble? Maybe. The exchange was silent, a product of years fighting side by side. Crokus

His friend waited, saying nothing – and Kalam knew that he wouldn't, because they'd been through it all together. Because true friends knew when to keep silent, to give all the patience needed.

Badalle thought that Saddic's book should hold vast numbers of blank pages, to mark such silences and all they contained. The truths and the lies, the needs and the wants. The nows and the thens, the theres and the heres. If she saw such pages, and could crisp back each one, one after another, she would nod, remembering how it was. How it was.

If all existence is a dialogue, how is it there is still so much left unsaid?