Quotes About Silence

Cisza ich zakÅ'Ä™biÅ'a siÄ™ przez jednÄ… sekundÄ™. I przez jednÄ… sekundÄ™ czekaÅ'em na rezultat tej bokiem stojÄ…cej bezczelnoÅ›ci Fryderyka. To co nastÄ…piÅ'o byÅ'o gÅ'adkie, posÅ'uszne i Å'atwe, tak "?atwe, ?e prawie przyprawiaÅ'o o zawrót gÅ'owy, jak bezszelestnie otwierajÄ…ca siÄ™ przepa?? na równej drodze.

Still must I tamely Talk sense with these others? How long Before I shall be with you again, Magnificently saying nothing!

Wovon man nicht sprechen kann, darüber muss man schweigen

Nadie imagina todos los alaridos que se ocultan tras el silencio de los tímidos. Dejaríamos sordo al universo entero si nos lo propusiéramos.

Los pendejos negocian discutiendo, quienes realmente quieren lo que quieren se callan el hocico y ponen manos a la obra.

Mold started to grow in my ears because no one ever spoke to me

After the death of all living creatures, all our unfulfilled wishes and unspoken words will go on drifting in the stratosphere, they will combine with one another and linger upon the earth like fog. What will this fog look like in the eyes of the living? Will they fail to remember the dead and instead indulge in banal meteorological conversations like: It's foggy today, don't you think?

My ears were full. Nothing more, not one more sound, could push into them and be registered.

What of God's silence? I think it over. I add: An intellect confounded yet a trusting sense of presence and of ultimate purpose.

This was all a bit much for me. The tone was right—loving and brave—but the details seemed bleak. I said nothing. It wasn't for fear of angering Mr. Kumar. I was more afraid that in a few words thrown out he might destroy something that I loved. What if his words had the effect of polio on me? What a terrible disease that must be if it could kill God in a man.

I said nothing. It wasn't for fear of angering Mr. Kumar. I was more afraid that in a few words thrown out he might destroy something that I loved.

Right away, death is word-eating.

Poetry is not a silent art. The poem must perform, unaided, in its reader's head.

The best runner leaves no tracks. —Tao Te Ching

Talkers aren't listeners

Truth, like milk, arrives in the dark But even so, wise dogs don't bark. Only mongrels make it hard For the milkman to come up the yard.

Talkers never write. They go on talking." There

I read her eyes like paragraphs and her tears like chapters for she didn't have much to say with words, but rather, silence. And never let them tell you that silence, isn't beautiful. For silence is what happens when words fall asleep and you must carry the belief that one day they will wake up inside of you.

The reverence accorded to the composer's score suggests that it is a sacred object, which is not to be tampered with, whose authority over the actions of all the musicians playing here tonight is absolute, which commands absolute stillness and silence from those devotees who have assembled to hear it performed.

The reflex of comforting him, of assuaging his fears, of forgiving the boy crouched behind the props, took over, and she stubbed in the words, the reassurance and avowals, that would silence him, finally.

The moment of silence stretched out as thin as the content of a congressman's speech.

As the conductor Leopold Stokowski once famously said, "…a painter paints pictures on canvas, but musicians paint their pictures on silence.

It's alright," they say, "Of course, there's beauty there," but they hold back; you know they have seen or heard of the ugliness and the insularity there. They have experienced the farawayness of it. I have learned to keep silent, not to berate them for their disregard of the Brits' role in the colonial tragedy of my country.

Where is that man who has forgotten words that I may have a word with him?