Quotes About Silence

Today, luxury resides in everything that is becoming rare: communion with nature, silence, meditation, slowness rediscovered, the pleasure of living out of step with others, studious idleness, the enjoyment of the major works of the mind - these are all privileges that cannot be bought because they are literally priceless.

Nothing happened. Well, of course nothing happened! Isn't nothing what generally happens when you pray to the gods?

They won't want to be told about the massacres of men and boys, the enslavement of women and girls. They won't want to know we were living in a rape camp.

The silence deepened, like a fall of snow, accumulating second by second, flake by flake, each flake by itself inconsiderable, until everything is transformed.

There are no words. There are no words for what I felt when I saw the setting sun rise.

Ik wachtte tot Hekabe zou spreken, maar ze zei niets. Misschien dat ze, oog in oog met dit uitzicht, woorden zo'n gedevalueerd ruilmiddel vond dat ze het als verloren moeite beschouwde ze nog te gebruiken.

He paused. Then added with great emphasis: You must speak, but I shall not listen to anything you have to say.

Silence becomes a woman…

I realize words are never enough; they stutter and cleave to the roof of my mouth.

I was trying to unravel the complicated trigonometry of the radical thought that silence could make up the greatest lie ever told.

Books are living things and their task lies in their vows of silence. You touch them as they quiver with divine pleasure. You read them and they fall asleep to happy dreams for the next ten years. If you do them the favor of understanding them, of taking in their portions of grief and wisdom, then they settle down in contented residence in your heart.

My approach to Charleston is always silent and distracted, but I come under full sail, with hissing silk and memories a wing above me in the shapes of the birds I love best

In the hour it took to finish that meal, I learned that silence could be the most eloquent form of lying.

A story untold could be the one that kills you

The language of grief is an impoverished one in the South. It is admired only if it's done in silence.

By not being able to tell me anything about themselves, they were telling me everything.

The language of grief is an impoverished one in the South. Sorrow is admired only if it's done in silence.

This tension stimulated the gland of entertainment in me and I found myself in the role of master of revels, the evening fool, with cards in my sleeves and a ready joke for every interval of silence.

No matter how much he talked, she never answered him, but he knew she was still there. He knew it was like the soldiers he had read about. They would have an arm or a leg blown off, and for days, even weeks after it happened, they could still feel the arm itching, the leg itching, the mother calling.

The house was still as northern woods in winter, when all the creatures are gone.

All day I listened and looked down, hoping no one would ask me a question. I hid so deep inside, I'd lose myself for days, forget the sound of my own voice. At home, I was silent more and more, my mouth too sad to speak.

Nothing in all creation is so like God as silence.

His face, at once beautiful and feral, revealed no more than the lion's face, which says nothing at all as the lion crouches and waits. It speaks only when it springs.

Do you want a half-truth or truth?" "Truth." "Then you will have to trust me." His voice was suddenly softer than the fire sounds, melting into the silence within the stones. "Beyond logic, beyond reason, beyond hope. Trust me." Morgon