Sometimes you move publicly, sometimes privately. Sometimes quietly, sometimes at the top of your voice.

We love the night and its quiet; and there is no night that we love so well as that on which the moon is coffined in clouds.

No pen, no ink, no table, no room, no time, no quiet, no inclination.

The places of quiet are going away, the churches, the woods, the libraries. And it is only in silence we can hear the voice inside of us which gives us true peace.

I understand personally that it is frustrating to lose presidential elections by narrow margins.

Sometimes you move publicly, sometimes privately. Sometimes quietly, sometimes at the top of your voice.