silence

No art is silent! Because art is an original idea and every original idea speaks, every interesting thought screams, every art talks, every art screams! No art is silent! If it is silent, then it is not an art!

She was a poem and a painting too. Everything she said sounded like a song, every silence was the music too.

I let quiet shape what I say, then realize there is nothing that can be fully said__he reason for gestures and eyes and art. Always something waiting, wanting, expectant, yet also curiously not.

The notes I handle no better than many pianists. But the pauses between the notes - ah, that is where the art resides.

When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence.

Silence is very dangerous, especially when your words can be the only source of healing at a moment.

I noticed that volcanoes, earthquakes and floods, though are not good events, they are better than the silence of good people when bad people take the podium. The latter are to an extent uncontrollable, but the former can be stopped.

When you are silent on the truth, you have given a transport fare for the lie to travel and spread fast.

Life is a song made of the musical rhythm of the body, words of the mind and the melodious silence of the soul.

Meditation is the art of silencing the mind so that you may hear the inklings of the Soul.

The silence of the night awakens my soul

A silent velvet footstep filled me, unwelcome yet so needed. You finally found my hidden shore with grains of time and ocean of the most secret secrets, violet and red; left a trail of deep blue footsteps on my glowing beach of soul, and no matter how many times tides wash the golden sand anew, your prints can never be erased. Each one a shining star in my quiet Universe...

The silence of a wounded soul roars louder than any tempest...

I will continue to exist in all these little moments. where we took the first dip of love and my heart skipped a beat. Our first walk, the first touch which burnt my soul, that first rain, the first kiss, the first comfortable silence between us. How many years may pass, Whenever I am sitting near the window and its raining or whenever I am sitting by a fireside and its cold, There will always be a piece of me which reminds me of you. It will stay in this moment forever.

And it is because we all of us know of this sombre power and its perilous manifestations, that we stand in so deep a dread of silence. We can bear, when need must be, the silence of ourselves, that of isolation: but the silence of many - silence multiplied - and above all the silence of a crowd - these are supernatural burdens, whose inexplicable weight brings dread to the mightiest soul.

If I tell some one that I love him _ as I may have told a hundred others _ my words will convey nothing to him; but the silence which will ensue, if I do indeed love him, will make clear in what depths lie the roots of my love, and will in its turn give birth to a conviction, that shall itself be silent; and in the course of a lifetime, this silence and this conviction will never again be the same. _

I see you better in music, I hear you better in wind, I feel you more in a flooding moonlight, that understands nothing, but darkness and silence.

In my silence and stillness, my soul dances with the ecstasy of life.