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My garden, with its silence and pulses of fragrance that come and go on the airy undulations, affects me like sweet music. Care stops at the gates, and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.
I do not wish to die- There is such contingent beauty in life: The open window on summer mornings Looking out on gardens and green things growing, The shadowy cups of roses flowering to themselves- Images of time and eternity- Silence in the garden and felt along the walls.
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds, - and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there, I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Stillborn silence! thou that art Flood-gate of the deeper heart!
Silence is the genius of fools and one of the virtues of the wise.
An now the silences come in a single lifetime, in a single year... when species die, leaving a silent space in the world song that can never be filled.
Great souls endure in silence.
But silence never shows itself to so great an advantage, as when it is made the reply to calumny and defamation, provided that we give no just occasion for them.
Leisure is a form of silence, not noiselessness. It is the silence of contemplation such as occurs when we let our minds rest on a rosebud, a child at play, a Divine mystery, or a waterfall.
Speech is great, but silence is greater.
True eloquence consists in saying all that is necessary, and nothing but what is necessary.
Well-timed silence is the most commanding expression.
It is as important to cultivate your silence power as your word power.
There are haunters of the silence, ghosts that hold the heart and brain.
And they three passed over the white sands, between the rocks, silent as the shadows.
I don't care how much a man talks, if he only says it in a few words.
Silence is not always a sign of wisdom, but babbling is ever a mark of folly.
Of every noble work the silent part is best; of all expression, that which cannot be expressed.
Striving to tell his woes, words would not come; For light cares speak, when mighty griefs are dumb.
There are some virtues to not saying what you think all the time.
A man speaks of what he knows, a woman of what pleases her: the one requires knowledge, the other taste.
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