Quotes About Silence

The second shift's 1600h. siren down at Sunstrand Power & Light is creepily muffled by the no-sound of falling snow.

This is what happens: you imagine the things I will say and then say them for me and then become angry with them. Without my mouth; it never opens. You speak to yourself, inventing sides. This itself is the habit of children: lazy, lonely, self. I

My aunt asks again if I'm sure it's no problem and I don't answer because I'm afraid of how my voice will sound.

What Mark Nechtr fears most: solipsistic solipsism: silence.

The sound of wind had become, for me, silence. When it went away, I was left with the squeak of the blood in my head and the aural glitter of all those little eardrums hairs quivering like a drunk in withdrawal.

When a rich man is hurt his wail goeth heavens high and none may say he heareth not.

Pero Fernando Vallejo, con su dominio del idioma, su radicalidad y su constante sentido del humor, es mucho más: es el hombre que rompió el nudo gordiano de un silencio centenario, el hombre que convirtió nuestra más antigua cadena, el lenguaje, en un instrumento de libertad.

This is the way the world will end, not with a bang, but a whimper.

This is what drives a young writer out of his head, this feeling that nothing is being said.

How can you talk if you don't say anything? I said. You talk without words. We are always talking without words. Well, what good are words, then? Not very good, most of the time. Most of the time they're only good to keep back what you really want to say, or something you don't want known.

Tú hablas sin palabras. Todos estamos siempre hablando sin palabras. —¿Y para qué valen las palabras, entonces? —No valen para mucho, casi nunca. La mayor parte de las veces, únicamente para ocultar aquello que realmente quieres decir, o algo que quieres saber.

Listen to many, speak to a few.

Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.

The rest, is silence.

Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.

Men of few words are the best men. (3.2.41)

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm 'i th' bud, feed on her damask cheek. She pinned in thought; and, with a green and yellow melancholy, she sat like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more; but indeed our shows are more than will; for we still prove much in our vows but little in our love.

It is not, nor it cannot, come to good, But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

The grief that does not speak whispers the o'erfraught heart and bids it break.

Nothing can come of nothing.

Madam, you have bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins

So you walk softly and look sweetly and say nothing. I am yours for the walk and especially when I walk away.

The empty vessel makes the loudest sound.