Silence Quotes
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I'm very interested in silence. And, more importantly, in what happens when people aren't talking on stage. I'm interested in letting actors play and do things between the lines. And in slowing everything down.
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New Year's eve is like every other night; there is no pause in the march of the universe, no breathless moment of silence among created things that the passage of another twelve months may be noted; and yet no man has quite the same thoughts this evening that come with the coming of darkness on other nights.
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The time will come when our silence will be more powerful than the voices you strangle today.
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Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues.
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For many people of color, learning to break the silence is a survival issue. To remain silent would be to disconnect from her own experience, to swallow and internalize her own oppression.The cost of silence is too high.
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Cold silence has a tendency to atrophy any sense of compassion between supposed lovers, between supposed brothers.
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He has embarrassed the government. By continuing as minister without portfolio he has earned himself a price for silence.
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Maintain silence in the presence of birth to save both the sanity of the mother and the child and safeguard the home to which they will go.
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Friendship is not diminished by distance or time, by imprisonment or war, by suffering or silence. It is in these things that it roots most deeply.
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Ever since I came to Congress in 1992, there are those who have been trying to silence my voice. I've been told to 'sit down and shut up' over and over again. Well, I won't sit down and I won't shut up until the full and unvarnished truth is placed before the American people.
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Silences, as every observer knows, have strange characteristics all their own - passionate silences, and hateful silences, and silences full of friendly, purring content.
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Let my thoughts come to you, when I am gone, like the afterglow of sunset at the margin of starry silence.
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But when she tried to say something, the words always seemed trite and inadequate. Nothing measured up. When any moment might be their last, there was nothing she could ever imagine saying that had the necessary dignity to fill that instant. Silence was better. Silence had its own dignity.
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If nobody spoke unless he had something to say, the human race would very soon lose the use of speech.
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To a musician or songwriter, your canvas is silence.
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Alas, everything that men say to one another is alike; the ideas they exchange are almost always the same, in their conversation. But inside all those isolated machines, what hidden recesses, what secret compartments! It is an entire world that each one carries within him, an unknown world that is born and dies in silence! What solitudes all these human bodies are!
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My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul.
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Let us look for secret things somewhere in the world on the blue shore of silence or where the storm has passed rampaging like a train. There the faint signs are left, coins of time and water, debris ,celestial ash and the irreplaceable rapture of sharing in the labour of soitude in the sand.
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Silence is the residue of fear.
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Sometimes you search so hard for words. You look for a way to interpret the language of this heart and the unspoken bond you feel. But in the end you are left with nothing but silence. And deep down you hope it’s understood.
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We should not silence our nation's researchers.
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In Maine we have a saying that there's no point in speaking unless you can improve on silence.
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I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.
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You will wonder how it was possible for me to endure the same kind of “tomorrow the world” talk that had sent me running away from Hainburg. The answer is simply that I had run out of places to run away to. Surrounded by a population that had been completely sold on monstrous ideas, I simply retreated down, down, down, trying to live in imitation of the German writer Erich Kästner, whom I had always admired and who responded to the Nazi years with what was called “internal emigration.” The soul withdrew to a rational silence. The body remained there in the madness.
