Quotes About Silence

For he realized at last that the spiritual balm he had always found in silent things was simply the assurance that the passions and agonies of man were without meaning, roots, or duration - no more part of the permament background of the world than the curls of blue smoke that from time to time were wafted through the valley from the autumn bonfires of weeds and rubbish, and that he could see winding like blue wraiths in and out of the foilage of the trees.

There's no more foolish proverb than the one which says that dead men tell no tales. To help dead men to find their tongues is one of the chief uses of the Law.

But it is best to let sleeping facts lie.

fangosa. El paisaje es agresivo, y reina en él un silencio de muerte. Al atardecer, sin embargo

No sé si usted ha sufrido una impresión semejante; pero cuando ella me extendió la mano y nos miramos, sentí que por ese contacto tibio, la espléndida belleza de aquellos ojos sombríos y de aquel cuerpo mudo, se infiltraba en una caliente onda en todo mi ser.

Y el silencio fue tan fúnebre para su corazón siempre aterrado, que la espalda se le heló de horrible presentimiento.

Un largo rato nos miramos; una eternidad de silencio, durante el cual el recuerdo galopó hacia atrás entre derrumbamiento de nieve y caras agónicas. Pero la mirada de Enid era la vida misma, y presto entre el tercipelo húmedo de sus ojos y los míos no medió sino la dicha convulsiva de adorarnos. ¡Y nada más!

Speak only when you feel that your words are better than your Silence. Hovsep kazezian www.Hkazezian.com

He was already tired of the rain. He never took long to grow weary of it in winter, though he liked it in the summertime when it fell hard, silver and green, and afterward steamed from the backs of horses, steamed up from the railroad ties and lay in a mist along Town Creek. In summer, the birds sang after a rain, but no such music rose from the cold drizzle of the dead time. Only silence, and only the dark.

Just as the body takes time to recover from an infection that has afflicted it, so the soul needs times of silence and solitude for its recovery from the insane pace of modern life.

would have died there. Right there. And she didn't say anything. She didn't even cry at first. She just handed the letter to Pop, and he read it, and then he put his head down on the table and began to cry.

There is no word for the sound a life makes.

The thing unspoken often settles most bitterly in the heart

My mother and Alexis had said no more than ten words to each other. The long silences were deafening

History shows that silence is unforgivable, for it gives bigotry license. And when meek words masquerade as moral courage, they are perceived as indifference and give the worst of human nature permission to flourish.

I always loved the sounds you'd hear at a practice. The silence in the cold rink, no one in the stands and then as the guys skated around, you could hear the blades crunching into the ice. When I would step on the ice for a practice, game or even a public skate, the second I heard that sound of ice meeting metal, I'd smile.

It is a subject that is taboo unless there is some extraordinary social crisis—such as war—involving the mobilization of all the national resources of the common life to meet it. There is a conspiracy of silence about hatred, its function and its meaning.

Who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words

The bodies went back in the doors and bars and the heads in the windows. The cops drove away and Freddy and the guys went back into the Greeks and the street was quiet, just the sound of a tug and an occasional car; and even the blood couldn't be seen from a few feet away.

He looked down at the street, and the unbroken whiteness, and watched his foot touch the snow and listened to the slight crunching sound as he stepped forward. He looked back at his footprints. They were fascinating. He had been the only one to walk along this street today. There wasn't even the mark of a dog or squirrel, or the scratch of a bird. He continued through the soft, silent snow, a feeling of peace starting to flow through him, helping make his step lighter and easier.

I stayed where I was and watched. The man and the corridor. He didn't make any other noise, and the corridor didn't do anything that corridors don't normally do.

So las ich falsch in deinem Aug, dem tiefen? Kein heimlich Sehnen sah ich heiß dort funkeln? Es birgt zu deiner Seele keine Pforte Dein feuchter Blick? Die Wünsche, die dort schliefen, Wie stille Rosen in der Flut, der dunkeln, Sind, wie dein Plaudern: seellos... Worte, Worte?

La escritura es un pequeño equívoco sin importancia, tan pequeño que nos hace casi mudos

Not being heard is no reason for silence.