The sweetest melody that playsOn starry nights and wintry days,Most soothing to my listening earsAnd calming to beleaguering fears,I call a symphony on air―The song of sweet, still silence rare.

I don’t trust mutes. By their silence, I wonder what they’re hiding. The lost Templar treasure, mysteries of the universe, my love for you—who knows what they could have hidden away.

Reading haiku is as much an art as writing it. The reader needs to pause and listen to the silences, to feel the spaces between the words, and to journey into the depths of many multi-colored worlds.

How small life is hereand how big nothingness.The sky, tired of light,has given everything to the snow.The two trees bowtheir heads to each other.Clouds cross the world’ssilence in a circle dance

How devastating it is to be thought of as arrogant. Surely, we have known each other long enough and well enough, for her to understand that my silence only reflects my sense of trust and satisfaction.

Be silent and safe — silence never betrays you; Be true to your word and your work and your friend; Put least trust in him who is foremost to praise you,Nor judge of a road till it draw to the end.

It will cost me a lot to send you with Scott wearing that dress but, just so you know: if you come with that dress slightly wrinkled,I will trace Scott, and when I find him, it's not gonna be pretty

I don't want to be married just to be married. I can't think of anything lonelier than spending the rest of my life with someone I can't talk to, or worse, someone I can't be silent with.

The feeling cannot be described in words, it's mystical; I am changing. Perhaps the soul needed silence so that it can shout to hear the echo from the walls of my heart. It did heard something, Sufism!

I listen to silence. And you have a lot to say. Although I haven't quite figured out what it is yet....I promise not to delve into what makes your silence so loud, if you promise not to walk out on me.

The limitless, lowering sky, the long stretches of motionless empty prairie, the silence, complete right down to the absence of birdsong -- who knows what decides a man to leave most of his words unspoken?

Shut up and do not think. All the theorists agree: shut up and keep the words from being said. And all of the scars will remain invisible; and all of the scars will remain under the skin. Where they belong.

I like my human experience served up with a little silence and restraint. Silence makes experience go further and, when it does die, gives it that dignity common to a thing one had touched and not ravished.

But I do like churches. The way it feels inside. It feels good when you just sit there, like you're in a forest and everything's really quiet, except there's still this sound you can't hear.

To heal our world we must be silent; willing to listen to the roars of the wounded. We must teach eachother how to feel, only than can an entire nation grow in peace, as the war within will slowly diminish.