Pact Of Silence Quotes

Not to be understood is effectively to be silenced, but not understanding can in its turn legitimise that silence, can illuminate one’s own unknowability. Art is the pact of individuals denying society the last word.

- Offre ton identité au Conseil, jeune apprentie. La voix était douce, l’ordre sans appel. - Je m’appelle Ellana Caldin. - Ton âge. Ellana hésita une fraction de seconde. Elle ignorait son âge exact, se demandait si elle n’avait pas intérêt à se vieillir. Les apprentis qu’elle avait discernés dans l’assemblée étaient tous plus âgés qu’elle, le Conseil ne risquait-il pas de la considérer comme une enfant ? Les yeux noirs d’Ehrlime fixés sur elle la dissuadèrent de chercher à la tromper. - J’ai quinze ans. Des murmures étonnés s’élevèrent dans son dos. Imperturbable, Ehrlime poursuivit son interrogatoire. - Offre-nous le nom de ton maître. - Jilano Alhuïn. Les murmures, qui s’étaient tus, reprirent. Plus marqués, Ehrlime leva une main pour exiger un silence qu’elle obtint immédiatement. - Jeune Ellana, je vais te poser une série de questions. A ces questions, tu devras répondre dans l’instant, sans réfléchir, en laissant les mots jaillir de toi comme une cascade vive. Les mots sont un cours d’eau, la source est ton âme. C’est en remontant tes mots jusqu’à ton âme que je saurai discerner si tu peux avancer sur la voie des marchombres. Es-tu prête ? - Oui. Une esquisse de sourire traversa le visage ridé d’Ehrlime. - Qu’y a-t-il au sommet de la montagne ? - Le ciel. - Que dit le loup quand il hurle ? - Joie, force et solitude. - À qui s’adresse-t-il ? - À la lune. - Où va la rivière ? L’anxiété d’Ellana s’était dissipée. Les questions d’Ehrlime étaient trop imprévues, se succédaient trop rapidement pour qu’elle ait d’autre solution qu’y répondre ainsi qu’on le lui avait demandé. Impossible de tricher. Cette évidence se transforma en une onde paisible dans laquelle elle s’immergea, laissant Ehrlime remonter le cours de ses mots jusqu’à son âme, puisque c’était ce qu’elle désirait. - Remplir la mer. - À qui la nuit fait-elle peur ? - À ceux qui attendent le jour pour voir. - Combien d’hommes as-tu déjà tués ? - Deux. - Es-tu vent ou nuage ? - Je suis moi. - Es-tu vent ou nuage ? - Vent. - Méritaient-ils la mort ? - Je l’ignore. - Es-tu ombre ou lumière ? - Je suis moi. - Es-tu ombre ou lumière ? - Les deux. - Où se trouve la voie du marchombre ? - En moi. Ellana s’exprimait avec aisance, chaque réponse jaillissant d’elle naturellement, comme une expiration après une inspiration. Fluidité. Le sourire sur le visage d’Ehrlime était revenu, plus marqué, et une pointe de jubilation perçait dans sa voix ferme. - Que devient une larme qui se brise ? - Une poussière d’étoiles. - Que fais-tu devant une rivière que tu ne peux pas traverser ? - Je la traverse. - Que devient une étoile qui meurt ? - Un rêve qui vit. - Offre-moi un mot. - Silence. - Un autre. - Harmonie. - Un dernier. - Fluidité. - L’ours et l’homme se disputent un territoire. Qui a raison ? - Le chat qui les observe. - Marie tes trois mots. - Marchombre.

IT IS an intoxicating moment in a love-affair when, for the first time, in a public place, in a restaurant or a theatre, the man puts his hand down and lays it on the thigh of the girl and when she slips her hand over his and presses the man’s hand against her. The two gestures say everything that can be said. All is agreed. All the pacts are signed. And there is a long minute of silence during which the blood sings. It was eleven o’clock and there was only a scattering of people left in the corners of the Veranda Grill.

- Qu'y-a-t-il au sommet de la montagne ? - Le ciel. - Que dit le loup quand il hurle ? - Joie, force et solitude. - A qui s'adresse-t-il ? - A la lune. - Où va la rivière ? - Remplir la mer. - A qui la nuit fait-elle peur ? - A ceux qui attendent le jour pour voir. - Es-tu vent ou nuage ? - Je suis moi. - Es-tu vent ou nuage ? - Vent. - Es-tu ombre ou lumière ? - Je suis moi. - Es-tu ombre ou lumière ? - Les deux. - Que devient une lame qui se brise ? - Une poussière d'étoile. - Que fais-tu devant une rivière que tu ne peux pas traverser ? - Je le traverse. - Que devient une étoile qui meurt ? - Un rêve qui vit. - Offre moi un mot. - Silence. - Un autre. - Harmonie. - Un dernier. - Fluidité. - L'ours et le chien se disputent un territoire, qui a raison ? - Le chat qui les observe. - Marie tes trois mots. - Marchombre.

the radical act of hospitality can open and liberate those who have found safe haven at the center, whether they are European-American, economically comfortable, straight, middle-aged, or otherwise privileged. Most of us have moments when we are at the center, even if we identify culturally with marginalized groups. And those who receive power usually have to make a pact with the systems that secure our power, to cut off part of ourselves, to silence the voice that cries out for justice and relationship, in order to survive and be successful.

The apparatus of corrective penality acts in a quite different way. The point of application of the penality is not the representation, but the body, time, everyday gestures and activities; the soul, too, but in so far as it is the seat of habits. The body and the soul, as principles of behaviour, from the element that is now proposed for punitive intervention. Rather than on an art of representations, this punitive intervention must rest on studied manipulation of the individual:'I have no more doubt of every crime having its cure in moral and physical influence...'; so, in order to decide on punishments, one 'will require some knowledge of the principles of sensations, and of the sympathies which occur in the nervous system'. As for the instruments used, these are no longer complexes of representation, reinforced and circulated, but forms of coercion, schemata of constraint, applied and repeated. Exercises, not signs: time-tables, compulsory movements, regular activities, solitary meditation, work in common, silence, application, respect, good habits. And, ultimately, what one is trying to restore in this technique of correction is not so much the juridical subject, who is caught up in the fundamental interests of the social pact, but the obedient subject, the individual subjected to habits, rules, orders, an authority that is exercised continually around him and upon him, and which he must allow to function automatically in him. There are two quite distinct ways, therefore, of reacting to the offence: one may restore the juridical subject of the social pact, or shape an obedient subject, according to the general and detailed form of some power.

The silence of the image is equalled only by the silence of the masses and the silence of the desert. The dream would be to be a photographer without a lens, to move through the world without a camera, in short, to pass beyond photography and see things as though they had themselves passed beyond the image, as though you had already photographed them, but in a past life. And perhaps we have indeed already passed through the image phase, in the way we pass through different animal phases, the mirror phase being a mere reverberation of all this in our individual lives.

the shimmering green water, and then, in an instant, it was gone altogether. The little circles in the water gradually disappeared too. Are you still there? he asked, after a few seconds. I love it. He smiled. Just be careful. You too . . . Are you leaving now? Yes . . . for good. I'll miss you. There was a long, drawn-out silence, and then, as if from another dimension, her voice said, Good . . . do. When he was sure she was gone, he unfolded his legs, and stood up. For a moment, he studied his own shadow falling on the water; with the end of his pact with Kaliya, his shadow had been returned to him . . . as had his soul. With the ring gone too now, there was little to remind him of his terrible odyssey . . . little

Dans tout mon langage, dans tout mon langage avec toi, il y a eu dès le début ce noyau de silence. Je ne dis pas cela pour me charger ni pour décharger qui que ce soit. L’effort que me coûte d’écrire ces mots me garantit une sorte de paix, au-delà de tout jugement. C’est ainsi, ce noyau de silence était en moi, il faisait partie de moi. Je l’ai, lui aussi, apporté avec tout le reste dans notre histoire et comme je ne pouvais rien contre lui, il y a pris sa place, s’est installé et s’est imposé. Je faisais naturellement semblant de ne pas le voir mais il était là. Je le recouvrais de discours de protection, diversion, il était toujours là, parfois invisible, parfois tacitement oublié, mais toujours là. Il ne trompait personne parmi les intéressés. Il ne te trompait pas, en tout cas malgré tous les efforts pour conclure avec lui et moi à demi-mots, un pacte d’oubli. Au fond de tout tu l’as accepté avec moi, mais tu ne l’as jamais accepté ; tu ne pouvais pas. Tu as fait tout ton possible en ton pouvoir pour le réduire, puis pour l’oublier. Un moment est venu où tu n’as plus pu résister au silence que par le silence, par un second silence sans aucun rapport avec le premier mais un silence. Un silenzio l’unico modo di non tacere.

In Pioche, Nevade [while in hiding], in April 1871, he [Philip Klingonsmith] made his affidavit regarding the massacre, the first of all who had participated to break openly the pact of silence. After acting as a witness in the first trial of Lee, he returned to Nevada... he was found dead in a prospector's hole in the state of Sonora, Mexico, apparently murdered, the inference being that he had been pursued by avenging members of the Mormons and had been killed for being a traitor...

Deirdre never utter another word about what a man's urges had led up to in Belfast. And Maeve - who'd learned young to obey her community's pact of silence - had never asked.

Deirdre never uttered another word about what a man's urges had led up to in Belfast. And Maeve - who'd learned young to obey her community's pact of silence - had never asked.

Pact of love Not in the silence but in the stillness of quietude I want to be with you, Then as our heartbeats break the silence I want to tell you, Darling I love you, And see the flash of joy arise from you, And let the quiet stillness be intruded by you, By your smiles, by your heart beats, by anything that represents you, Then as my world of emotions and feelings grows over you, I shall attempt to steal you from you, To reside somewhere in the eternal stillness with you, Where there is the world but it exists only for me and you, Then as my feelings sink inside you, I shall tune my heart beats with that of you, Then even the stillness will not disturb me and you, Because now it will be hard to tell whether you are inside me or I am inside you, With feelings merged as one, with heart beats beating as one, I shall now see my world through you, Then my love Irma, we shall sign our pact of love bearing just one line, “I was born to love you!

Beaucoup d’amitiés (et d’amours) se terminent là, ne survivent pas au passage d’une phase à l’autre, et finissent au mieux par ressembler à ‘’ce pacte d’invisibilité et de non-agression’’ […]. Comment notre amitié a-t-elle pu survivre aux silences et aux affrontements, traverser l’épreuve de la différence, faire du désaccord radical ‘’ce qui nous oblige à rester ensemble’’, devenir une ‘’amitié dialectique’’, semblable à celle qui te reliait à Pierre Vadeboncoeur, celle de ‘’deux êtres qui savent, chacun pour soi, que l’autre vit dans un monde qui n’est pas le sien, et qui acceptent sereinement qu’il en soit ainsi’’ ? La réponse que tu donnes a la justesse du paradoxe lié au processus même de la connaissance qui est aussi celui de l’amitié : plus nous connaissons quelque chose, plus l’inconnu grandit, plus nous sommes liés à quelqu’un que nous aimons, plus la distance entre nous grandit et nous rend ‘’son identité de plus en plus énigmatique, sa vérité de plus en plus insaisissable, et toutes deux, pourtant, toujours plus irremplaçables’’. C’est ainsi que sans avoir cessé d’être soi, sans avoir renoncé à incarner la vérité qui nous a été confiée, sans nous être dérobés ‘’à cette force aveugle qui, sans que nous le sachions, nous façonne et nous oriente de manière si imprévisible et, à partir des mêmes matériaux, fait tel visage à l’un et tel autre à celui-là’’, nous nous sommes si bien perdus de vue que nous en sommes venus à ne plus voir que le monde qui surgit entre nous des pôles contraires dont nous avons la garde, à voir que la distance qui nous sépare est aussi le chemin qui nous relie, que l’existence de l’autre à l’autre bout du chemin nous libère de nous-mêmes, du noyau dur de notre être […]. Don Quichotte et Sancho tiennent chacun un bout du monde pour ne pas qu’il s’écroule dans le non-sens ou pour en retarder la chute. […] Ce qui nous relie désormais, ‘’ce lien entre nous, c’est certain, qui ne se brisera qu’avec la mort’’, n’est-ce pas au fond la fidélité à l’enfance, à ce que nous étions lorsque nous n’étions pas encore sûrs d’être quelqu’un, fidélité à cette affinité élective qu’aucun désaccord ne peut plus effacer, car elle ne repose plus sur ‘’les ressemblances de tempérament ou les communautés de vues ou de goûts’’, mais sur ce désir d’être autre, que l’autre a éveillé en nous, et qui a donné à chacun la force d’être soi en imitant, en admirant l’autre ?

And you didn’t tell me any of this because you were bound to silence,” I whispered. “You made a blood pact.” “Yes. They said that it needed to remain secret. And at that point, I would have agreed to anything to get it out of me. Hell, it didn’t seem like such a terrible thing, to never speak of it again. And their final gift was the perfect cover story. My father was a Ryvenai noble who was a close personal friend of the king. There were plenty of people on both sides who would have loved to see the Farlione family wiped out for that alone. And just like that, the murder of the Farliones became just another unfortunate wartime tragedy.

As much as I craved an escape from myself, breaking my pact with Camilla would only inject further venom into the festering wound inside me.

Shakespeare's Sonnet XVIII: This Thing of Ours Should I compare yous to a made man You gots more stugots and love to bust chops. Eh! You do whatcha gotta do, Jack a truck, buttleg or shoot some feds or cops. Nuthin gives you agita like a rat with a wire, You let the boss decide who lives and who gets whacked. You have sit-downs with the higher-ups with all your beefs, You've taken the vow of Omertá, silence and honor is your pact. You love your goomah and take care of your wife, You got your crew'sback, you're a stand-up guy. You got a vig on the Shylock biz and a taste from swag, When your Capo says 'burn that jamook,' never ask why. So long as you don't wanna be a guest of the state and eyes can see, Count on Tony to pop the witnesses, leave the gun and grab the cannoli.

But a day came when the sky was a haze of snow-clouds, and all the beauty of autumn had gone by. As evening drew on, Kyril summoned the cousins to his private chamber. Philip found him seated by the window. The first stars of snow had just fallen on the ledge outside. Philip bowed low. ‘”My lord, Linda means no disrespect, but she begged me to tell you that she promised to dance with Thawn. She cannot come until her promise is fulfilled.” Kyril laughed. “Most proper! But I do not honor her too highly, for no doubt she enjoys paying such a debt. This is well, for I wished to speak to you alone. Sit down.” Philip took the stool beside him. Kyril’s smile faded; his face was serious as he gazed down at his young guest. “But I think you know what I will say.” “You mean to send us home.” Kyril nodded. “Ygerna made a pact; it is for me now to fulfill it. But even if I offered it to you, Philip, would you choose to stay?” Philip shook his head. “No, my lord. The strangest and most wonderful adventures of my life have happened here, but this is not my home.” “And what of Linda?” For a long moment there was silence. At last Philip stirred and looked up at Kyril’s face. Very quietly he replied, “You were right when you said that the thought of rescuing her sustained me. And at that time I didn’t care whether she wanted to come back with me or not, because I was certain I knew what was best. Now…” He stopped and then with an effort continued. “I can’t imagine being without her; I can’t imagine what my uncle and aunt would say. But I know I cannot force her to return. She must make her own decision.” “I rejoice,” said Kyril gently, “that you have grown in wisdom. For no human being can possess another, Philip: not even out of love.” The door opened, and Linda stood on the threshold. She made Kyril a deep curtsey; her cheeks were flushed from dancing. He smiled and held out his hand. “Welcome, Linda! Are you discharged of all your debts?” “Yes, my lord!” She laughed and, running toward him, kissed the outstretched hand. “Why did you summon us?” “The time has come to speak of your return.” Philip looked at her. “I’ve decided to go back, Linda.” Kyril said, “For Philip, the good sorrow of leave-taking is unmixed with doubt. He knows what he must do. But for you, Linda, the decision may not be so easy. Therefore, I ask you once again: which of the two worlds is your home?” “Here I was born,” said Linda softly, “and here I discovered what I truly am. I am grateful for that knowledge; perhaps a time will come when I can remember it without pain. But I don’t belong here.” She drew a deep, uncertain breath. “I’ve tried to persuade myself, but I can’t. As a baby I might have died but for the love Philip’s family has shown me. I belong with them. If he goes, I will go with him.

pact of silence”.

Though they never spoke, their daring was a bond, a pact. Will now saw something saintly in Jonah's silence. He hid his voice the way Will's mother hid her body, except Jonah made himself the place he never left, which Will envied but couldn't emulate, because having spent his whole life Inside, he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

I'd never had an audience like Rebecca Cross. Her shining eyes and respectful silence spurred me to ever greater heights of invention. Ever deeper trenches of imagined horrors. By Friday, I'd pegged half our class as speeding towards some kind of astonishing doom. And Becca was mine. We'd been written off as weirdos together. Together. Some girls treated their friends as athletes in competitive trials, constantly moving them up and down the ranks. But for us best friendship was deadly serious. More permanent than a tattoo. We invented code words and handshakes. We made repeated blood pacts. We scratched each other's arms with pine needles and sipped unholy potions we invented in our parents' gardens out of some nebulous, but passionate desire to show out devotion. We snuck clothes into each other's drawers, so we could swear to anyone who asked (no-one ever asked) that we lived together. Our mom's conducted hush phone calls, worried we'd burn bright then break each others hearts. They set up play dates with other children who never asked to come back. Our parents didn't get it. That was all. They didn't believe you could find your soulmate at six.

És urgent mentalitzar els catalans —i nosaltres ho farem malgrat el pacte de silenci al qual ens veiem sotmesos— que el desgavellat estat Espanyol està esgotat com a marc polític per aconseguir les aspiracions nacionals que desitja Catalunya.

had more albums upstairs; she

I don't like making pacts with tomorrow. I want today—just as it is, good and bad. I feel safe that way. I don't want to face the great perhaps.

Having a child has become a prodigiously artificial thing. It no longer has anything of the passionately accidental event about it; it has become the parthenogenetic fruit of a calculation of biological, dietary and psychosocial data and you wonder to what extent dream, desire or fatality are still involved. But perhaps the race is losing its interest in sexuality, preferring instead a sort of protozoan transplantation. Leaving out of account that what has been conceived by artificial insemination is very likely to continue its life in artificial intelligence and to die of built-in obsolescence. After the mechanical bride, the mechanical widow. Now every human being is the product of a sexual act, a sexual pact or else we should not be the human race. It takes a sexual copulation successfully to produce a human being, just as, among the Hindus, it takes a copulation between the word and silence for a sacrifice to be successfully carried out. In a sense the child is indeed the continuation of the species. But in another, he or she is a biological vestige of it. The further we go with change, genetic innovations and fashion, the more unreal it becomes, with each new generation, to put our trust in the processes of childbirth and organic growth. The simplicity and slowness of those things are entirely outside the range of our contemporary experience. How can we claim to exercise judgement if we have lost a sense of punishment? How can we claim to judge anything at all if we no longer accept being judged? And if we are no longer able either to judge or be judged, then we lose all hope of being absolved or condemned in the past or the future. Now, what can no longer be reflected in the past or the future takes place in a single instant with all its consequences. The Last Judgement becomes an immediate reality. We have right here before us the unchecked proliferation in epidemic proportions of all processes, the multiplication of all cancers on an epidemic scale.

– Tu es toujours aussi silencieuse ? Je le fixe, ne sachant quoi répondre. En vérité, je n’ai jamais été très loquace. Quand on est souvent seul, on s’habitue au silence.

I drive this cart, this platform on four wheels, Wherever the roads may take us, I drive Through steep gorges and across vast plains A transitory endeavour, a lifelong quest, of wood and metal, creaking in the night, steel tires hauled across rocks, some rebelling with sparks, others with silence under the steadfast rhythm of cloven hoofs Spokes turn, like perpetual clockwork, until we reach the next inn, where hopefully awaits another drink