Quotes About Silence

Atatea juvaeruri sunt Uitate-n bezna si-n pamant, Dormind in veci necercetate; Atatea flori dau in zadar Parfumul lor subtil si rar In taina si-n singuratate.

Solo por fin! Ya no se oye más que el rodar de algunos coches rezagados y derrengados. Por unas horas hemos de poseer el silencio, si no el reposo. ¡Por fin desapareció la tiranía del rostro humano, y ya sólo por mí sufriré! ¡Por fin! Ya se me consiente descansar en un baño de tinieblas. Lo primero, doble vuelta al cerrojo. Me parece que esta vuelta de llave ha de aumentar mi soledad y fortalecer las barricadas que me separan actualmente del mundo.

Bella soy, ¡oh, mortales!, como un sueño de piedra, y mi seno, que a todos por turno a torturado, fue hecho para inspirar al poeta un amor tal como mi materia, inmortal y callado

Vom roade-al nostru suflet în mut? convorbire Nainte s? d?m ochii cu marea Pl?zmuire

Ce drag? mi-ai fi,Noapte,când stelele s-ar stinge:lumina lor îngân? un cântec cunoscut;iar eu vreau tot ce-i negru È™i gol È™i È™ters È™i mut!

Felice chiunque può con ala vigorosa slanciarsi verso terre luminose e serene, chi sente i suoi pensieri come allodole in viaggio nel cielo del mattino in libertà volare, chi plana sulla vita e così può ascoltare delle tacite cose e dei fiori il linguaggio.

Solidão, silêncio, incomparável castidade do azul! Pequena vela a tremular no horizonte, cuja fraqueza e isolamento imitam a minha irremediável existência. Melodia monótona das ondas".

The poetry is not in speaking to the dead but listening to the dead.

when the phone rings I too would like to hear words that might ease some of this.

Our disappointment sits between us.

Dying should come easy: like a freight train you don't hear when your back is turned.

sometimes there's nothing to say about death.

There is a loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of a clock.

we sat there smoking cigarettes at 5 in the morning.

The trouble with these people is that their cities have never been bombed and their mothers have never been told to shut up.

Long ago, among other lies they were taught that silence was bravery.

I sit on the couch watching her arrange her long red hair before my bedroom mirror. she pulls her hair up and piles it on top of her head- she lets her eyes look at my eyes- then she drops her hair and lets it fall down in front of her face. we go to bed and I hold her speechlessly from the back my arm around her neck I touch her wrists and hands feel up to her elbows no further.

I still believe in more privacy and less talk.

I walk out of the dark and into the dark and sit down and wait.

Mëso të mos e shkatërrosh me fjalë atë çfarë ke ndërtuar me heshtje.

my typewriter is tombstone still. and I am reduced to bird watching.

I want quiet thunder.

Death is a sophisticated afternoon in Santa Fe, with nobody saying what they are thinking.

He just stares. He's so quiet. That's the way we want him. Still water runs deep. Not with this one. The only thing that runs deep with him are the holes in his ears.