Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Mutters. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Mutters Quotes And Sayings by 84 Authors including Auliq Ice,Luke Taylor,Christina Dodd,John Burnside,Bryant Mcgill for you to enjoy and share.
To every whisper if you listen carefully, you will hear or fail to hear something.
Right words, sometimes they escape me; curses nay so much. Of them I am kin.
I've been a foul-mouthed knave." "Well, I don't know." "A beetle-headed malfeasor." "Nothing so - " "A base, proud tottyhead." He paused, but she said nothing. "Aren't you going to object?" "No," she drawled the word. "Humility is so refreshing in a man.
Sometimes you linger days
upon a word,
a single, uncontaminated drop
of sound; for days
it trembles, liquid to the mind,
then falls:
mere denotation
dimming the undertow of language.
When we keep our silence we gather our power; when we speak we let loose the concentration of quiet reverie.
Shut lips, sleeping faces,
Every stopped machine,
The dumb and littered places
Where crowds have been:.
All silences rejoice,
Weep (loudly or low),
Speak-but with the voice
Of whom, I do not know.
I live in the angle of a leaden wall, into whose composition was poured a little alloy of bell-metal. Often, in the repose of my mid-day, there reaches my ears a confused tintinnabulum from without. It is the noise of my contemporaries.
when whispered
what an exquisite
song, it makes-
your name.
It is well, says a soothing whisper in my ear like the wind. My heart is beating too fast. I remember what I'd said that day at the Grand Canyon. We can talk peace when You get rid of the demons. Well, I'll be damned. I think I've just been humbled.
The dusk runs down the lane driven like hail;
Far off a precise whistle is escheat
To the dark; and then the towering weak and pale ...
Move thy tongue,
For silence is a sign of discontent.
All words and sayings gently turn, returning to the self.
Hark, how chimes the passing bell! There's no music to a knell; All the other sounds we hear, Flatter, and but cheat our ear. This doth put us still in mind That our flesh must be resigned, And, a general silence made, The world be muffled in a shade.
I'm getting rather hoarse, I fear,
After so much reciting:
So, if you don't object, my dear,
We'll try a glass of bitter beer -
I think it looks inviting.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought ...
Silence can mock.
Words are the fallen ruins of silent majesty.
For mankind, speech with a capital S is especially meaningful and committing, more than the content communicated. The outcry of the newborn and the sound of the bells are fraught with mystery more than the baby's woeful face or the venerable tower.
Speech is often barren; but silence also does not necessarily brood over a full nest. Your still fowl, blinking at you without remark, may all the while be sitting on one addled egg; and when it takes to cackling will have nothing to announce but that addled delusion.
Silence is never so impenetrable as when the whisper of steel on paper strives to pierce it.
I saw nothing more now than the pallor of my face, with deep orbits, buried in the twilight, and my mouth filled with a silence which gently but surely stifles and destroys.
Guard your roving thoughts with a jealous care, for speech is but the dealer of thoughts, and every fool can plainly read in your words what is the hour of your thoughts.
Now there is stillness - such a stillness as I have never heard before in all my life. Soon I shall start moving again, and perhaps I will never stop.
Voices
Voices in my head,
Chanting, 'Kisses. Bread.
Prove yourself. Fight. Shove.
Learn. Earn. Look for love',
Drown a lesser voice,
Silent now of choice:
'Breathe in peace, and be
Still, for once, like me'.
Most of the time, because of their failure to fasten on to words, my thoughts remain misty and nebulous. They assume vague, amusing shapes and are then swallowed up: I promptly forget them.
Words? I tell you not to write me letters; I command you. Is it not enough to want you so in vain, but you send me what evokes you here before me
this paper, all along whose lines your hand has lain?
Speech is the small change of silence.
I open the door to my cottage these evenings on a silence so thick it falls upon me like a blanket. Of all the lonely moments of my day, this is the loneliest. I confess I have sometimes been reduced to muttering my thoughts aloud like a madwoman when the need for a human voice becomes too strong.
He thinkes not well, that thinkes not againe.
The snow has quietness in it; no songs,
no smells, no shouts or traffic.
When I speak
my own voice shocks me.
The silence of a wounded soul roars louder than any tempest...
Small sorrows speak great ones are silent.
Her thoughts, loosen by solitude, often burst these days through her unconscious lips; and often contradict one another ( ... )
The voices blend and fuse in clouded silence: silence that is infinite of space: and swiftly, silently the sound is wafted over regions of cycles of cycles of generations that have lived.
Soundlessly whispering into the void, my lips moving quickly, silently, without ceasing. Calling his name, calling him to me.
Even though there's no use.
Even though it's futile.
Even though it's way past too late.
Soundless speechless sorties of life.
Meralda shook her head. "Pay him no attention, gentlemen," she said. "Logic fails. Reason surrenders. Silence is your only defense."
"Silence, and a whooping big crossbow," muttered Mug. Kervis grinned, and Mug winked. "That's a lad," he whispered. "There's hope for you yet.
I don't pay you for whispers. Sing!
He that speakes sowes, and he that holds his peace, gathers.
No-one speaks. No-one moves ( ... ). We glide, softly, in silence, into our dark and separate hells
Hee that dines and leaves, layes the cloth twice.
Thou hast had thty day, old dame, but thy sun has long been set. Thou art now the very emblem of an old warhorse turned out on the barren heath; thou hast had thy paces in thy time, but now a broken amble is the best of them.
She feels in italics and thinks in CAPITALS.
Now come the whispers bearing bouquets of moonbeams and sunlight tremblings.
the mute protest in your own bones
Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.
You can't hear a whisper if you're constantly shouting.
[S]ometimes in writing of myself ... I have occasionally had the exquisite thrill of putting my finger on a little capsule of truth, and heard it give the faint squeak of mortality under my pressure, an antic sound.
Silence is only commendable
In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.
They fix attention, heedless of your pain,
With oaths like rivets forced into the brain;
And e'en when sober truth prevails throughout,
They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt.
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!
Thou knowest that my voice is sweet, That is if thou dost hear; And I am moulded in a form Somewhat below the mean.
Ask the world to reveal its quietude- not the silence of machines when they are still, but the true quiet by which birdsongs, trees, bellworts, snails, clouds, storms become what they are, and are nothing else.
Speaking commits me Listening teaches me Silence tempers me Birth
We wake and whisper awhile, But, the day gone by, Silence and sleep like fields Of amaranth lie.
I will desist;
... But there is something glows upon my cheek,
And whispers in mine ear, 'Go not till he speak.
Waves of thought are stirring. In a twilight corner of her consciousness, one tiny fragment and another tiny fragment call out wordlessly to eachother, their spreading ripples intermingling.
Trifling trouble find utterance; deeply felt pangs are silent.
Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes, And pause awhile from letters, to be wise.
In silence there is a perfection which any toil injures.
I have sworn with my tongue, but my mind is unsworn.
[Lat., Juravi lingua, mentem injuratem gero.]
Ashes, ashes." Her whispered words of an old rhyme smashed through the silence as thunder, and in unison, the shadow figures answered.
"We all fall down.
Thou weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath.
Petty mind mocks.
Ye come and go incessant; we remain Safe in the hallowed quiets of the past; Be reverent, ye who flit and are forgot, Of faith so nobly realized as this.
Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, sober steadfast, and demure, all in a robe of darkest grain, flowing with majestic train.
When I write, I solemnly visit myself.
The scholar only knows how dear these silent, yet eloquent, companions of pure thoughts and innocent hours become in the season of adversity. When all that is worldly turns to dross around us, these only retain their steady value.
I ... Kisss the tender inward of thy hand.
Silence is a time of reflection to bring peace and meaning to your life, and to those around you. This deafening quiescence will mean different things to different people but if they listen carefully, they will understand...
I stored up the purest words
for making new silences
The sounds of silence are a dim recollection now, like mystery, privacy and paying attention to one thing - or one person - at a time.
As for murmurs, mother, we grumble a little now and then, to be sure; but there's no love lost between us.
When these incorrigible talkers are compelled to be quiet, is it not evident that they are not silent because they are listening to what is said, but because they are thinking of what they themselves shall say when they can seize the first lucky interval, for which they are so narrowly watching?
Cease, rude Boreas, blustering railer! List, ye landsmen all, to me; Messmates, hear a brother sailor Sing the dangers of the sea.
Quiet mind, quiet soul.
Silence holds the door against the strife of tongue and all the impertinences of idle conversation.
The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces, the pressing on of many footsteps in the outskirts of the
I await the revises, and promise you not to 'make my quietus with a bare bodkin' till I have returned them. After that, I think of retiring. But first I would like to dine with you here. To leave life as one leaves a feast is not merely philosophy but romance.
Silence is eternal eloquence
You are solidified silence, awareness. A thousand hours of speech cannot equal one glance: a hundred glances cannot equal a minute of silence
When speech is given to a soul holy and true, time, and its dome of ages, becomes as a mighty whispering-gallery, round which the imprisoned utterance runs, and reverberates forever.
If any man think it a small matter, or of mean concernment, to bridle his tongue, he is much mistaken; for it is a point to be silent when occasion requires, and better than to speak, though never so well.
If you can be heard then you exist, mutters hungover Bank, massaging her temples.
Quiet as mice, quiet as the wind, quiet as the grave.
cram's with praise, and make's
As fat as tame things.
One good deed dying tongueless
Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.
Our praises are our wages; you may ride's
With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere
With spur we heat an acre.
His words remind me of the strange whispers that have accompanied my illusions - something dark and vengeful, tempting and powerful. A weight presses on my chest. I am afraid. Intrigued.
Silence gives the proper grace to women
Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe, That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath.
Mal," I whispered into the night.
"What?"
"Thanks for finding me."
I wasn't sure if I was dreaming, but somewhere in the dark, I thought I heard him whisper, "Always.
As before, there is a great silence, with no end in sight. The writer surrenders, listening.
Scarcely two hundred years back can Fame recollect articulately at all; and there she but maunders and mumbles.
In my silence do I enhance my talents
Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long / To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Inner silence is for our race a difficult achievement. There is a chattering part of the mind which continues, until it is corrected, to chatter on even in the holiest places.
We are angered even by the full acceptance of our humiliating confessions - how much more by hearing in hard distinct syllables from the lips of a near observer, those confused murmurs which we try to call morbid, and strive against as if they were the oncoming of numbness!
No more words. In the name of this place we drink in with our breathing, stay quiet like a flower.
So the nightbirds will start singing.
Eventually she tires of directing her speech outwards and closes her mouth in apparent resignation. A new silence comes to overlay the silence that is already there.
I look at you and I write down what I hear.
Lips, let sour words go by and language end:
What is amiss plague and infection mend!
Graves only be men's works and death their gain!
Sun, hide thy beams! Timon hath done his reign.