John Drinkwater Quotes

The first thing he noticed was how quiet it was. This was nothing like the kind of quiet he heard when he woke up in the middle of the night after a bad dream. When that happened, there were always strange, unidentifiable sounds seeping into his room from the tiny gaps where the windowpanes weren't sealed together correctly. At those moments he could always tell there was life outside, even if all that life was fast asleep. It was a silence that wasn't silence at all.

The pale and quiet moon Makes her calm forehead bare, And the last fragments of the storm, Like shattered rigging from a fight at sea, Silent and few, are drifting over me.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony

Let us have the luxury of silence.

There is nothing in the world more peaceful than apple - leaves with an early moon.

Silence! I am learning to know the silence of a Tahitian night.

There comes in all our lives a time ... when the ears can listen to no music save what the moonlight breathes through the flute of silence.

I came to love silence, because it's so rare, and it's now my favorite aural condition.

But I do like to have peace and quiet for a good hour.

I like silence.

It was enough just to sit there without words.

I really love peace and quiet.

I like peace and solitude and silence.

When the moon shines very brilliantly, a solitude and stillness seem to proceed from her that influence even crowded places full of life.

It's the moon that makes it so still, weaving some mystery.

Take time to be quiet.

After a run of several night events, you begin to appreciate the solitude and the quiet backstage.

The wall is silence, the grass is sleep, Tall trees of peace their vigil keep, And the Fairy of Dreams with moth-wings furled. Plays soft on her flute to the drowsy world.

Harvest moon: around the pond I wander and the night is gone.

I love order. It's my dream. A world where all would be silent and still, and each thing in its last place, under the last dust.

Silence is like nightfall. Objects are lost in it insensibly.

There was just one moon. That familiar, yellow, solitary moon. The same moon that silently floated over fields of pampas grass, the moon that rose--a gleaming, round saucer--over the calm surface of lakes, that tranquilly beamed down on the rooftops of fast-asleep houses. The same moon that brought the high tide to shore, that softly shone on the fur of animals and enveloped and protected travelers at night. The moon that, as a crescent, shaved slivers from the soul--or, as a new moon, silently bathed the earth in its own loneliness. THAT moon.

Over all the mountain tops is peace. In all treetops you perceive scarcely a breath. The little birds in the forest are silent. Wait then; soon, you too, will have peace.

In every sound, the hidden silence sleeps.

There is a majestic grandeur in tranquillity.