In the world I am Always a stranger I do not understand its language It does not understand my silence
Women need space and silence. We too quickly give away our energy. There's something about holding that richness.
The desert is a natural extension of the inner silence of the body. If humanity's language, technology, and buildings are an extension of its constructive faculties, the desert alone is an extension of its capacity for absence, the ideal schema of humanity's disappearance.
In silence man can most readily preserve his integrity.
Not only does silence give us a chance to understand ourselves better, to get a truer and more balanced perspective on our own lives in relation to the lives of others: silence makes us whole if we let it. Silence helps draw together the scattered and dissipated energies of a fragmented existence.
Nature's silence is its one remark, and every flake of world is a chip off that old mute and immutable block.
They don’t have silences together; they have noise. Mostly his.
There is often grace in silence. But there is always power in understanding.
He who thinks much says but little in proportion to his thoughts. He selects that language which will convey his ideas in the most explicit and direct manner.
Sometimes people confuse silence as wisdom when in fact it is compromise.
My argument is that history is made by men and women, just as it can also be unmade and rewritten, always with various silence and elisions, always with shapes imposed and disfigurements tolerated.
By not speaking you don't get rid of the story, you just open up a silence, which can be just as loud.
It takes some silence to make sound.
The world is quieter now. It is never quiet, but it can get quieter. What strange creatures we are, to find silence peaceful, when permanent silence is the thing we most dread. Nighttime is not that. Nighttime still rustles, still creaks and whispers and trembles in its throat. It is not darkness we fear, but our own helplessness within it. How merciful to have been granted the other senses.
Every noble deed dieth, if suppressed in silence.
The purpose of sound is silence.
In fact, they didn't talk much at all, but they spent time together, each in his own abyss, held safe and tight by the other's silence.
If you look at a dancer in silence, his or her body will be the music. If you turn the music on, that body will become an extension of what you're hearing.
We can't stand the silence because silence includes thinking. And if we thought, we would have to face ourselves.
It does not do to rely too much on silent majorities, Evey, for silence is a fragile thing, one loud noise, and its gone. But the people are so cowed and disorganised. A few might take the opportunity to protest, but it'll just be a voice crying in the wilderness. Noise is relative to the silence preceding it. The more absolute the hush, the more shocking the thunderclap. Our masters have not heard the people's voice for generations, Evey and it is much, much louder than they care to remember.