Quotes On My Silence Novels & Stories

But I just had three words to say. “Kill silently.”

Althea asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Silence," Mrs. Ruiz replied, her tone resolute. "Your silence is the most powerful weapon you have in this situation." Althea looked at her mother, her brow furrowed. "But how can I just stay silent, when they've done all of this?" she asked, her voice full of confusion and doubt. "Because a silent woman is a deadly woman," Mrs. Ruiz said. "Silence is golden, as they say," Mrs. Sobrerano said, a knowing look in her eyes. "A well-timed silence can say more than any words ever could."

Not a single chirp but pairs and pairs that they unsure how many of it. Half of a minute, that's what it took for the those in nest to come, silently just their described by their name "The sãlnes" a k.a "The silence". They are very sensitive to sound, very sensitive, as much as breathe could be caught. They would prefer them silence, and then only sounds they love, maybe the ripping flesh and bone. No one know how it's look, that's all myth but maybe some information at this moment.

Elizabeth It’s strange how silence can be louder than words. I know it’s a common saying but when it gets real, the noise of silence is unbearable. My mind travels back to Granny’s tree, a horror movie replaying in my head. Ever since that day my world had gone quiet. No arguments, no explanations, just a constant, dull ringing that filled the space where his voice used to me. Left with the memories of his smile, his laughter, his thumb tracing circles around my hand, all I could do was smile to myself. Defeated.

And about love not the kind that arrives with fireworks, but the kind that lingers quietly, through the pain. The audience sat still, breaths held. When she finished, the silence was thick. Then, it broke into thunderous applause. A woman stood during the Question and Answer section , her voice shaky. “I’ve lived in silence for years. I didn’t know it was okay to speak again.” Emma replied, “Sometimes silence is protection. But when you're ready, it can also be the place your voice is born again.” Afterward, the room transformed into a celebration. Lemon cake. Soft music. Hugs that lingered. Claire gave a toast. “To Emma,” she said, glass raised, “who turned her pain into poetry.”

*Erico's POV* People always think I’m the quiet one because I prefer silence. They’re wrong. Silence isn’t a preference. It’s an instinct. A shield. A survival mechanism that’s kept me alive longer than I deserve. But around her… Silence becomes a battlefield.

I grin slyly at her and she chuckles nervously avoiding my eyes. "Will do." she smiles and my grin broadens. "Hmm. People will die from shock when they find out you do know how to talk… a lot...” Or how absolutely adorable you can be. On second thought, I’d like to be the only one. "They know I can talk. They just always seem to distort my words making me look insensitive… so I choose to stay silent." "I see." she really is a strong. Sensitive and thoughtful. "Yuzuki?"

I had been practicing it while I ate cold food alone in the dark kitchen. “You called me the 'Silent Moore' in your papers. You wrote that I was reserved and unimpressive. I was silent because I was a contract. I thought my silence was the price of safety. I was wrong. I thought if I stayed quiet, I would be safe. But silence is just a slower way to disappear.”

We both stand there, cold wind freezing the blood in our faces as we look over the city lights and at the frozen waters far down below. “So what do you do when you come here? Nothing?” I ask. “Silence. I enjoy the silence,” he tells me simply. I pause before speaking again. “I hate silence, it’s boring and scary, and… I just hate being left alone with my scrambled thoughts,” I tell him. “Sometimes silence can mean not entertaining your thoughts too. Just peace and stillness from everything, especially your thoughts,” he explains, turning to me. “How?” “Just don’t think.”

But I hope — maybe foolishly — that this buys me one thing: Silence. Not the kind that hides guilt. But the kind that says: “I saw myself. And I didn’t like what I saw.” Maybe that’s a beginning. Maybe that’s all I get. Maybe it’s enough.