Quotes About Silence

My mother never boasted about it. She always kept it to herself, kept it secret. Spoke about it as little as possible. I would have preferred if she had also told us about it. Otto Frank visited us regularly and then you sometimes heard things, but I've never heard the whole story.

Maybe Ã¢â'¬Â¦ an old story passed down on Mai's maternal side huddled together in the internment camps of '42, keeping themselves alive with the stories. But keeping separate even then, even there, the threads of the Japanese, Chinese, Filipino elders. Stories keeping the people in the camps alive while the bill in Congress to sterilize the women of the camps got voted down by one vote, one vote. And then the silence. A whole generation silent

Silence. Stillness. To give her soul a chance to attend its own affairs at its own level.

Most will tell you what they believe to be fact because it is much harder to conceal it. It takes effort to suppress the truth. It usually eats you up from the inside out if you try to contain it in silence. In the end you have to decide what truth resides best within you... even if your point of view does not agree with others.

just another of the thousands of jobs rural policemen get solving little social problems among people turned eccentric by an overdose of dramatic skyscapes, endless silence and loneliness.

And sometimes, sitting in my chair I can feel the absence stretching out in all directions– like the deaf, defoliated silence just after a train has thundered past the platform, just before the mindless birds begin to chirp again –and the wildflowers that grow beside the tracks wobble wildly on their little stems, then gradually grow still and stand motherless and vertical in the middle of everything.

She preferred silence. So I do not know her and yet I know her. She was . . . (He touches the coffin) . . . not a person but a whole kind of person, the ones who crossed the ocean, who brought with us to America the villages of Russia and Lithuania—and how we struggled, and how we fought, for the family, for the Jewish home, so that you would not grow up here, in this strange place, in the melting pot where nothing melted.

I know what that is, 'he said. 'That's drugs, that is.' 'You're a genius, aren't you?' 'Dad will kill you' 'Then I'll be dead.' Then they were both silent, thinking about the room down the hall that no one was allowed to touch, that no one was allowed to enter, and the brother who you were not alloewd to mention in this house. The brother you could't even fucking mention

Hay aquí un individuo que, si hablo, me robaría los pensamientos.

One must use the night.

There are empty spaces that must be respected – those often long periods when a person can't see the pictures or find the words and needs to be left alone.

Sellaista henkilöä kohtaan tunnetaan aina kunnioitusta, joka osaa pitää suunsa kiinni. Luullaan että sellainen tietää paljon ja elää hirveän jännittävästi.

Once a year the Hattifatteners collect there before setting out again on their endless foraging expedition round the world. They come from all points of the compass, silent and serious with their small, white empty faces, and why they hold this yearly meeting it is difficult to say, as they can neither hear nor speak, and have no object in life but the distant goal of their journey's end. Perhaps they like to have a place where they feel at home and can rest a little and meet friends.

There was so much to talk about that nothing was said. It was warm sitting there on the steps. Everything seemed to be so right.

Neither one of the two friends felt any great need of talking. As yet. They had time; summer lay before them, long and full of promises.

But when people understand one another without speaking, it can often leave them with very little to talk about, don't you think?

The wind had risen. It pressed snow against the windows with a powerful whispering that had followed the people of the village for a long, long time. Between squalls there was silence.

Every year, the bright Scandinavian summer nights fade away without anyone's noticing. One evening in August you have an errand outdoors, and all of a sudden it's pitch-black. A great warm, dark silence surrounds the house. It is still summer, but the summer is no longer alive. It has come to a standstill; nothing withers, and fall is not ready to begin. There are no stars yet, just darkness.

To the final landscape of our old age, as summer fades...Silence settles around us, each of us wanders his own way, and yet we all meet by the sea in the peaceful sunset.

And I was sitting on my verandah believing they were so remarkable and free, just because they never spoke a word and were always on the move. They hadn't a single word to say and nowhere to go...

Folk våknet sent, for det var ikke noen morgen lenger, fiskerleiet lå lydløst under urørt snø mellom husene, til barna ble sluppet ut og gravde tunneler og huler og skrek og skulle passe seg selv.

Mumintrollets pappa hade aldrig känt sig så lugn och så absolut nöjd med allting. Det var egentligen skönt att ingenting behöva säga och ingenting förklara, varken för sig själv eller andra. Man bara satt och såg mot horisonten och hörde vågorna klucka under båten.

He (Moominpappa) decided to become silent and mysterious, like a Hattifattener. People respected one if one didn't talk. They believed that one knew a great many things and led a very exciting life.

I grunnen hadde ingen av dem lyst til å snakke. Ennå. De hadde god tid, sommeren lå lang og full av løfter foran dem.