Quotes About Silence

It was not Orlando who spoke, but the spirit of the age. But whichever it was, nobody answered it.

We love each other, Terence repeated, searching into her face. Their faces were both very pale and quiet, and they said nothing. He was afraid to kiss her again. By degrees she drew close to him, and rested against him. In this position they sat for some time. She said Terence once; he answered Rachel.

Not that they added perceptibly to the noise of the party. They were not talking (perceptibly) as they stood side by side by the yellow curtains. They would soon be off elsewhere, together; that was all. That was enough.

They had always this queer power of communicating without words. She

The house was left; the house was deserted. It was left like a shell on a sandhill to fill with dry salt grains now that life had left it.

He turned and saw her. Ah! She was lovely, lovelier now than ever he thought. But he could not speak to her. He could not interrupt her. He wanted urgently to speak to her now that James was gone and she was alone at last. But he resolved, no; he would not interrupt her. She was aloof from him now in her beauty, in her sadness. He would let her be, and he passed her without a word, though it hurt him that she should look so distant, and he could not reach her, he could do nothing to help her.

The truth was that she did not want intimacy; she wanted conversation. Intimacy has a way of breeding silence, and silence she abhorred.

Mr. Carmichael, who was basking with his yellow cat's eyes ajar, so that like a cat's they seemed to reflect the branches moving or the clouds passing, but to give no inkling of any inner thoughts or emotion whatsoever, if he wanted anything.

It is true that each visit began, continued, or concluded with a declaration of love, but in between there was much room for silence.

The history of most women is] hidden either by silence, or by flourishes and ornaments that amount to silence.

She stood there: she listened. She heard the names of the stars.

She was, on the contrary, inclined to be silent; she shrank from expressing herself even in talk, let alone in writing.

children never forget. For this reason, it was so important what one said, and what one did, and it was a relief when they went bed. For now she need not think about anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of--to think; well, not even to think. To be silent; to be alone.

I have no desires, save the desire to express myself in defiance of all the world's muteness.

If he was silent I could be silent too. Indeed, I could very well do with a little rest in this subdued, frightened-to-death rocking chair, before I drove to wherever the beast's lair was - and then pulled the pistol's foreskin back, and then enjoyed the orgasm of the crushed trigger.

The summer night was starless and stirless, with distant spasms of silent lightning.

My solemn exasperation was to her the silence of love.

Your silence was effortless and windless, like the silence of clouds or plants. All silence is the recognition of a mystery. There was much about you that seemed mysterious. A

Your voice, through the beelike hum, was remote and anxious. It kept sliding into the distance and vanishing. I spoke to you with tightly shut eyes, and felt like crying. My love for you was the throbbing, welling warmth of tears. That is exactly how I imagined paradise: silence and tears, and the warm silk of your knees. This you could not comprehend.

Everything was too quiet to be natural. It seemed as if the silence was rising, rising—would suddenly brim over and break into laughter.

No animal will touch a person's tongue. When a lion has finished a traveler, bones and all, he always leaves the man's tongue lying like that in the desert (making a negligent gesture). I doubt it. It's a well known mystery.

This night the password was silence.

My habit of being silent when displeased, or, more exactly, the cold and scaly quality of my displeased silence, used to frighten Valeria out of her wits. She used to whimper and wail, saying 'Ce qui me rend folle, c'est que je ne sais à quoi tu penses quand tu es comme ça.' I tried being silent with Charlotte – and she just chirped on, or chucked my silence under the chin. An astonishing woman!

her husband had such a soothing capacity for showing how silent a man could be if he strictly avoided comments on the weather.