Silence Quotes - Page 10

A voice is a human gift; it should be cherished and used, to utter fully human speech as possible. Powerlessness and silence go together.

True forgiveness and love arise naturally, effortlessly, from the silence of the heart broken all the way open.

Silence does not always mark wisdom.

When it seems humanly impossible to do more in a difficult situation, surrender yourself to the inner silence and thereafter wait for a sign of obvious guidance or for a renewal of inner strength.

There was good reason for the silence of the Holy Spirit as to how,when, in what form Christ ordained the apostles, the reason being to show the indifferency of all forms of words.

I am not an adult, that's my explanation of myself. Except when I am working on a set, I have all the inhibitions and shyness of the bashful, backward child, unless I have something very much in common with a person, I am lost. I am swallowed up in my own silence.

There is beauty in everything, even in silence and darkness.

Peace is not something that happens by accident. Peace is like silence; it is always there. The lack of harmony in our lives is like noise superimposed on the silence. THe issue is not how to create peace, but how to live in a way that eliminates the noise.

Silence is more musical than any song.

I think the cinema you like has more to do with silence, and the theater you like has more to do with language.

The temple of our purest thoughts is silence.

Silence is never-ending speech. Vocal speech obstructs the other speech of silence. In silence one is in intimate contact with the surroundings. Language is only a medium for communicating one's thoughts to another. Silence is ever speaking.

A fence to wisdom is silence.

Silence is the universal refuge, the sequel to all dull discourses and all foolish acts, a balm to our every chagrin, as welcome after satiety as after disappointment; that background which the painter may not daub, be he master or bungler, and which, however awkward a figure we may have made in the foreground, remains ever our inviolable asylum, where no indignity can assail, no personality can disturb us.

Gertrude Stein, all courage and will, is a soldier of minimalism. Her work, unlike the resonating silences in the art of Samuel Beckett, embodies in its loquacity and verbosity the curious paradox of the minimalist form. This art of the nuance in repetition and placement she shares with the orchestral compositions of Philip Glass.

A great silence is spreading over the natural world even as the sound of man is becoming deafening.

Silence is the pause in me when I am near to God.

Meditation is silence. If you realize that you really know nothing, then you will be truly meditating. Such truthfulness is the right soil for silence. Silence is meditation.

Whatever's there to feel, feel it—the riddance, the relief, the fright and freedom, the fear of forgetting, the dull ache of your own mortality. Get with someone you can trust with tears, with anger, and wonderment and utter silence.

Meditation is the journey from sound to silence, from movement to stillness, from a limited identity to unlimited space.

Every being cries out in silence to be read differently. Do not be indifferent to these cries.

Can you come over to Amberwood? I need you to help me break curfew and escape my dorm.” There were a few moments of silence. “Sage, I’ve been waiting two months to hear you say those words. You want me to bring a ladder?

Anybody else think that was weird?” Shane asked as they got into the car. Eve sent him an exasperated glance; the three of them were, of course, in the backseat. Amelie had the front, with Michael. “Ya think? In general, or in particular?” “Weird that we got through the entire thing, and I didn’t have to hit anybody.” There was a moment of silence. Michael said, as he started the car, “You’re right, Shane. That is strange.

The violent illiteracies of the graffiti, the clenched silence of the adolescent, the nonsense cries from the stage-happening, are resolutely strategic. The insurgent and the freak-out have broken off discourse with a cultural system which they despise as a cruel, antiquated fraud. They will not bandy words with it. Accept, even momentarily, the conventions of literate linguistic exchange, and you are caught in the net of the old values, of the grammars that can condescend or enslave.

With their souls of patent leather, they come down the road. Hunched and nocturnal, where they breathe they impose, silence of dark rubber, and fear of fine sand.