Some people like to hear themselves talk, but I like to hear myself silent.
Life is a train ride, and at the many stations along the route, people important to us debark, never to get aboard again, until by the end of the journey, we sit in a passenger car where most of the seats are empty.
He looks ... chewed.
She has suffered so much, and that sorrows me. But she has been strong in the face of unthinkable adversity, and that inspires me.
Variety is not the spice of life. It is the mother of disorder. Individuality is not the hallmark of freedom. It is the essence of decadence. Freedom is slavery to chaos. Unity is peace, all thinking and acting as one.
There are silences and silences. No one of them is like another. There is the silence of grief in velvet-draped rooms of a plushly carpeted funeral parlor which is far different from the bleak and terrible silence of grief in a widower's lonely bedroom.