Quotes About Silence

She doesn't speak, and I say nothing more. We just stare at each other, letting the tears roll down our cheeks. That's what tears are for, after all. A way for the soul to bleed.

I'll sing forever and never hear a word.

To a poet, silence is an acceptable response, even a flattering one.

La timidité de notre conscience nous détourne parfois de reconnaître le racisme lorsqu'il est élégant et sensible ; les confusions méthodologiques, les pétitions métaphysiques ne nous paraissent plus si graves lorsque, silencieuses sur les actes, elles sont en outre accompagnées de ce que nous appelons élévation de l'esprit ou grande culture.

Indians are supposed to be silent in the Records written by history's winners, but Shawnees speak from the Records kept by the British, French, Spaniards, and Americans. Shawnee orators explained that for them the struggle for America was not only a contest for resources but also a clash between two ways of life and between two different worldviews. They fought for a different vision of America.

No slave had ever keeled over dead at a spinning wheel or been butchered for a tangle. But nobody wanted to speak on the true disposition of the world. And no one wanted to hear it.

The white men were silent. As if they'd given up or decided that a small freedom was the worst punishment of all, presenting the bounty of true freedom into painful relief. One

No matter that Mr. Marconi had told him he didn't care, no matter that Elwood had never said a word to his friends when they stole in his presence. It didn't make no sense until it made the only sense.

But nobody wanted to speak on the true disposition of the world. And no one wanted to hear it.

The atmosphere in Nightbirds was ever five minutes after a big argument and no one telling you what happened. Everyone in their neutral corners replaying KO's and low blows and devising too-late parries. You didn't know what it had been about or who'd won, just that nobody wanted to talk about it, they glance around and knead grudges in their fists.

So much of her time spent like this: dreaming up things to say and never quite saying them.

It was a silence that heard itself, awful and beautiful.

When I sat down beside them, their silence was lined with tenderness. We have to admire the world for not ending on us.

death by drowning, death by snakebite ... death by memory loss, death by claymore ... death by paper cuts, death by whoreknife, death by poker game ... death by authority, death by isolation, death by genocide, death by Kennedy ... death by signature, death by silence ... death by performance

Fear makes money, and it makes laws, and it takes land, and it builds settlements, and fear likes to keep everyone silent.

The quiet lines matter as much as the noisy ones.

The worst burden in life is what others know about us. But maybe there is one burden even worse than this. It happens when they don't know about us, it is what they think about us when, in silence, they force us to be what they expect us to be. Even worse is how we become it and I, chonorroeja, have become it.

There are those of us who haven't yet told our stories, or refuse to tell them, and so we become them: we hide away inside the memory until we can no longer stand the shell or the shock - perhaps I must tell it before it is forgotten or becomes like everything else, something else.

The ticking was gone from my mind and all was quiet everywhere in the world and I held the curtain like I held the sound of the bullets going into the draft horse, his favourite, in the barn, one two three, and I stood at the window in Stevie's jacket and looked and waited and still the rain kept coming down outside one two three and I was thinking oh what a small sky for so much rain.

I have nobody left to whom I can tell the story.

Here comes loneliness applauding itself all the way down the street.

you soon find out how loud the silence really is. everything unsaid leads eventually to what is said.

The disconnect between his mouth and his mind. That's where the camera came in. It was the unspoken thing between him and the others.

Their reflection in the glass. The water behind them stretched distant and black. I stood in the doorway a long, long time, unsure of what to do or say. I wasn't interested in their