If you're silent for a long time, people just arrive in your mind.

There is only one way: Go within. Search for the cause, find the impetus that bids you write. Put it to this test: Does it stretch out its roots in the deepest place of your heart? Can you avow that you would die if you were forbidden to write? Above all, in the most silent hour of your night, ask yourself this: Must I write? Dig deep into yourself for a true answer. And if it should ring its assent, if you can confidently meet this serious question with a simple, "I must," then build your life upon it. It has become your necessity. Your life, in even the most mundane and least significant hour, must become a sign, a testimony to this urge.

It was a shocking thing to say and I knew it was a shocking thing to say. But no one has the right to live without being shocked. No one has the right to spend their life without being offended. Nobody has to read this book. Nobody has to pick it up. Nobody has to open it. And if you open it and read it, you don't have to like it. And if you read it and you dislike it, you don't have to remain silent about it. You can write to me, you can complain about it, you can write to the publisher, you can write to the papers, you can write your own book. You can do all those things, but there your rights stop. No one has the right to stop me writing this book. No one has the right to stop it being published, or sold, or bought, or read.

I would rather be attacked than unnoticed. For the worst thing you can do to an author is to be silent as to his works.

A book is made from a tree. It is an assemblage of flat, flexible parts (still called "leaves") imprinted with dark pigmented squiggles. One glance at it and you hear the voice of another person, perhaps someone dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, the author is speaking, clearly and silently, inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people, citizens of distant epochs, who never knew one another. Books break the shackles of time ? proof that humans can work magic.

What an astonishing thing a book is. It's a flat object made from a tree with flexible parts on which are imprinted lots of funny dark squiggles. But one glance at it and you're inside the mind of another person, maybe somebody dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, an author is speaking clearly and silently inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people who never knew each other, citizens of distant epochs. Books break the shackles of time. A book is proof that humans are capable of working magic.

Though her voice silent, as she leaped from the sea, she appeared to roar like a lion from a cavernous void that was her mouth

"The child in me is now silent.

You are at peace with your world when you don't judge others. Learning to be non-judgmental is an art. And you learn this art through discipline. You learn by choosing not to comment, not to offer opinion on the actions, comments and lives of others. Being silent is key to being disciplined ? and to being happy!

What you deeply resent in another, is actually a reflection of what you wish you had or what you wish you could be. Resentful of how another speaks her mind? Because you were silenced and therefore fell silent. Resentful of how another wears (or doesn't wear) whatever she wants? Because you are controlled by your own ideas of morality and societal expectations. Resentful of how another's life is not constructed to pander and please others? Because you are bound by the cruel chains of people-pleasing, you don't know how to break out of. What you resent in others is what you actually wish you could be.

A MIND WHICH CAN'T KEEP SILENT IS COUNTED AMONG THE SOUND MINDS

In contravention of my belief that any life ending in death is essentially pointless, I needed my friends to open up that plastic bag and take one last look at me. Someone had to remember me, if only for a few more minutes in the vast silent waiting room of time.

The body itself, simply from the laws of its own nature, can do many things which its mind wonders at ? it is in the mind's power alone both to speak and to be silent and to do many other things which they therefore believe depend on the mind's decision ? if, on the other hand, the body is inactive, the mind is at the same time incapable of thinking

Don't be in hurry. Good things take time and requires a lot of patience. Whatever significant in life comes very silently. All you need is patience

Real love is a humble receptivity of a silent heart that is prepared to melt and merge?

When Inspirational is silent reason tires quickly.

It was a flight, a kind of fleeing, a kind of falling, falling higher and higher, spinning off the edge of the earth and beyond the sun and through the vast silent vacuum where there were no burdens and where everything weighed exactly nothing.

When the whole world is silent, even one voice becomes powerful.

"Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven

a silent night. - the most eloquent poem i have ever read.

"the flames are silent

"THE SILENT PEOPLE

I imagine what it must be like to stay hidden, disappear in the dusky nothing and stay still in the night. It's not sadness, though it may sound like it. I'm thinking about people and trees and how I wish I could be silent more, be more tree than anything else, less clumsy and loud, less crow, more cool white pine, and how it's hard not to always want something else, not just to let the savage grass grow.

"I love the silent hour of night