Quotes About Silence And Wisdom Novels & Stories

He was still inside, probably finishing his drink, probably telling himself that I just needed a minute to calm down. I reached into my evening bag and pulled out the small, leather-bound journal I had started keeping. I flipped to the last entry and picked up the pen tucked into the spine. August 12th, I wrote, my hand surprisingly steady. Tonight, I realized that silence isn't just a lack of noise. It’s a weapon. And Gideon is an expert at wielding it.

The softness that showed up out of nowhere, the warmth that curled itself just enough around his words to make you second guess the cold you knew. He waited. When he realized I still wasn’t going to talk, he gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. “Anyway, I can see that you are not even ready to talk now and so I need you to calm your nerves. So, I will be leaving you till you finally see reasons to do that.” Responding to him might worsen the whole situation. But strangely, my silence wasn’t really getting him pissed. Right now, I have come to understand now that ‘silence is golden’ in another dimension.

Some made notes. Fiona strode to the board and scrawled in big, chalky letters: MADNESS. SILENCE. REBIRTH. She smacked the first word. "Madness is not always screaming," she spoke. "It is the silence you force yourself to put around you like a coat. It is knowing that you cannot break because there is no one else to hold the pieces." She paused. The room was so silent that it became complete stillness. Her own hand, still clutching the chalk, shook. Just as yesterday. But today it was not despair tugging at her—it was the burden of remembering.

Often times, they would spend hours on the couch, reading, weaving macramé, or researching interesting, but trivial facts over the internet for hours without speaking a word. He squeezed her hand. “I tend to surround myself with chatty friends or coworkers who always have something to say. Any moment of silence becomes a space that must be filled.” His hand relaxed again as if talking about his work was stressful. “The space of silence is where I do most of my thinking,” she said. “I find it is most useful to not think at all and just enjoy my current space in time as if nothing was on my agenda.” “And how do you do that? Not think at all?”

I was drowned in my thoughts. What really baffled me the most was that his companion wasn't too toward with his words, unlike him. Despite that, I could read a thousand and one words his silence betrayed. Only God knows what he had in mind that he refused to spill out. The silent ones, says the sage, are the most dangerous. I should have to fear his return too. Well, whatever it was that they was planning to do, I'm ready for them. I'm ready for them all! I'm ready to give each of them their own piece of cake, if they want me to.

She is silent because she has learned how to stand where words are unnecessary. And time, eternal and patient, has just been shown a language it does not fully command. That will not go unanswered. But it will not be undone either.

“You planned this.” “I survived that firm by learning,” she said quietly. “Silence isn’t absence. It’s preparation.” Lucien closed his eyes once. “Then they’ve underestimated you.” She smiled faintly. “Everyone does.” Outside, the city buzzed with half-truths and polished lies. Inside, something sharper was being forged. Because silence, when chosen— Is never empty.

Chapter 6: The Weight of Silence The car moved steadily through the quiet night. The city lights glared past the windows. The roads were less crowded now, the noise of the conference long left behind. Inside the car, the silence felt heavy. Marcus sat on the driver's seat. His hands rested firmly on the steering wheel, his posture straight, eyes fixed on the road ahead. He had learned over the years when to speak and when not to. In the back seat, Lucas sat slightly turned to the side.

“Secrets that breathe within the walls of our house, hiding in corners where the sun does not reach. Secrets that twist themselves into our very blood.” Her eyes flickered back to Amara, dark and unreadable. “And not all of them… should be spoken aloud.” Amara’s breath caught. “Pourquoi pas?” she asked softly. “Why not?” Clarisse’s gaze dropped again, her lashes lowering like shutters. “Because,” she whispered, “some truths are heavier than silence. And to carry them aloud is to risk more than one’s peace. Sometimes—” she paused, her hand trembling slightly as it brushed the rim of her glass— “sometimes silence is the only shield we have.”

Then an eerie sharp whisper decided to break the silence as it says, "Barren are the minds of those who claim they know, Blind are the eyes of those who believe just by sight, Ignorant are the creatures, who conclude unknown as odd, And many are the knowledgeable souls yet never relied on wisdom, So tell me, meandering soul, who are YOU?" Grinning lips then flashed in the mere darkness, as the predator's foul intention unenticingly made her presence known to her Prey.