Quotes On Quiet Person Novels & Stories

His mom asked and he could only part his lips in silence as he stared at his messed up plate. “Would something light be better?” As they whispered amongst themselves... "Probably, he doesn't seem to enjoy swallowing." "Would something hot do? Paige says she likes something hot when she's weak." Their voices were getting a little to loud for him. "Tea?" “That doesn't sound too bad.” And without thinking fast, the words left his mouth before he could hold it back. “Could you all please be quiet for a minute, I said I'm fine.” A cold silence brimmed at their midst in surprise.

she asked. Adrian shook his head. “Too quiet.” She chuckled. “You’re the only person I’ve met who thinks quiet is a bad thing.” Adrian exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I spent years listening to my own thoughts. Sometimes, silence is worse.” She was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.” Adrian turned to her, his chest tightening. “I don’t know how to be anything but alone.”

“Ikaw? What kind of person makes you feel safe?” Hindi siya agad nagsalita. Tinitigan niya lang ako na para bang pinag-iisipan niyang mabuti ang sagot. Then he smiled softly. “Someone I can be quiet with.” Napatigil ako. “Kasi kapag comfortable ka sa isang tao,” dugtong niya, “hindi mo kailangan pilitin ‘yung sarili mo para punuin lagi ‘yung silence.” Ewan ko pero parang may yumakap sa puso ko no’n.

“You come here often?” “Whenever I need to think,” I said. “Or stop thinking.” She hummed. “That’s deep.” “Not really,” I said. “Mostly it’s just quiet here. And the view helps me forget the world’s noise for a bit.” She turned to me then eyes softer, curious. “You’re not as mysterious as you look, you know.” “Oh no?” “You’re worse,” she teased. “You’re the brooding type who stares at sunsets and gives poetic answers.”

The moon hung low, swollen and bright, like it was listening in. He leaned against the railing again, same posture as earlier, except now the anger had cooled into something sharper. Disappointment, maybe. Or worry. That one always cut deeper. “Funny thing about silence,” he said after a while. “People think it means control. Most times, it just means you’re scared to say the wrong thing.” I let out a breath through my nose. “You always this philosophical at night, or am I special?” He huffed. “Congratulations. You bring out my inner elder.”

The soothing sound of water cascading from the fountain was inviting. I walked over to the bench and took a seat. The gentle, rhythmic sound of the water was so relaxing and soothing that I didn't notice myself drifting off to sleep. The weariness of the journey, combined with the peaceful ambiance of the garden, was too much for my tired body to resist.

, etc. But if you treat this rule simply, "I don't shout," it will be an easy metric that you can stick to. You will know that you are a very calm person no matter what is going on. A quiet person gains the trust of others, a quiet person is dependable, a quiet person is reliable and takes responsibility, a calm person lasts longer

I panted, weaving my breathing so rough that I nailed my fingers to the leather seat of Lena's Corvette. "And I take it you don't like them?" "Like? What me? Them?" I chuckled in a monochrome tone, adding more to a snort. "What's not to like about those two? You don't see that dumb and dumber are about playing hooky. What?" "Wow, I never see this angry for a tiny quiet person." She chuckled. "But I guess the phrase goes, quiet people are usually the ones who become a killer. But that's what I think."

If it wasn’t for the sunglasses she wore most of the time, she would endure endless headaches that made migraines seem like a moment of peace. “You’re quiet,” he stated. “Does that bother you?” He chuckled. “Oddly, no. I find it rather refreshing.” “Refreshing?” Her long spans of silence irritated her friends and family, but none of them had labeled it as refreshing. Her friend Anna was the only person who seemed comfortable with not talking during their time together. 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.

Something to keep me moving, not something to savor. I stepped aside, adjusting the knot of my black tie. Ignoring the low chatter of the café. John— my driver had insisted this was the “quietest” place near the office. Quiet? Hardly. Conversations overlapped, spoons clinked against ceramic, laughter flared too easily. Still, I stayed. Silence wasn’t what I needed. Not today. “Of all the places in this city,” an all too-familiar voice sang from behind me, “you choose this one. What are the odds?”