“And the great spirit of darkness spread a shroud over me...everything was silent-everything. But upon the heights soughed the everlasting song, the voice of the air, the distant, toneless humming which is never silent.”

“Song falls silent, music is dumb,But the air burns with their fragrance,And white winter, on its knees,Observes everything with reverent attention.”

“When there is noise and crowds, there is trouble; When everything is silent and perfect, There is just perfection and nothing To fill the air.”

“Maybe in some distant place, everything is already, quietly, lost. Or at least there exists a silent place where everything can disappear. Or at least there exists a silent place where everything can disappear, melting together in a single overlapping figure. And as we live our lives we discover—drawing toward us the thin threads attached to each—what has been lost.”

“I hummed love songs, silent love songs the words of which I’ve forgotten, sang to myself for nights on end, never tiring of praising my love in song, it was just as it ought to be and I dreamed the whole of Germany had exploded and just we two were lying, buried alive, somewhere in the last warmth of ashes, the air was used up and I gave her my last breath in one long kiss—that kind of stuff, I take nothing of it back, it was right and it was marvelous.”

“I knew near everything about him, and he knew near everything about me, and all that made our quiet a kind of song. The kind that you hum without even knowing what it is or why you're humming it. The kind that you've always known.”