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Silence is only commendable in a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.
-William Shakespeare
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Silence Is Only Commendable In A Neat's

William Shakespeare
Silence is only commendable in a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.
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Silence Maids Tongue

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Words stand between silence and silence: between the silence of things and the silence of our own being. between the silence of the world and the silence of god. when we have really met and known the world in silence, words do not separate us from the world nor from other men, nor from god, nor from ourselves because we no longer trust entirely in language to contain reality.
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Valancy herself had never quite relinquished a certain pitiful, shamed, little hope that romance would come her way yet - never, until this wet, horrible morning, when she wakened to the fact that she was twenty-nine and unsought by any man. ay, there lay the sting. valancy did not mind so much being an old maid. after all, she thought, being an old maid couldn’t possibly be as dreadful as being married to an uncle wellignton or an uncle benjamin, or even an uncle herbert. what hurt her was that she had never had a chance to be anything but an old maid.
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I have known the silence of the stars and of the sea. and the silence of the city when it pauses, and the silence of a man and a maid, and the silence for which music alone finds the word.
Stars Men Sea
'sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you stock-fish! o for breath to utter what is like thee! you tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bowcase; you vile standing-tuck!
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All profound things, and emotions of things are preceded and attended by silence... silence is the general consecration of the universe. silence is the invisible laying on of the divine pontiff's hands upon the world. silence is at once the most harmless and the most awful thing in all nature. it speaks of the reserved forces of fate. silence is the only voice of our god.
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But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? it is the east, and juliet is the sun. arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. be not her maid, since she is envious; her vestal livery is but sick and green and none but fools do wear it; cast it off. it is my lady, o, it is my love! oh, that she knew she were!
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