Silence (n.) belongs only to someone who has something to say.
Silence (n.) of the proper kind may be needed by language more than hasty expression.
Silence (n.) returns by a law of fate — and when it does, there shall be a language too.
Silence (n.) is not the origin beneath speech but already a corresponding — an answer to the noiseless ringing of stillness.
Silence (n.) is the ground of language: the most sheltered holding of measure, which holds the measure by first setting up measures.
Silence (n.) produces the most obnoxious chatter when talked and written about; to be simply silent of silence would be authentic saying.
Silence (n.) as the unspoken is the source from which everything spoken derives — the not yet spoken, or what must remain unspoken because speech is denied it.
Silence (n.) in a thinker can be reached only through what he said: to hear what he left unspoken, you must first weigh his words.
Silence (n.) is what a great thinker's polemics guard: Nietzsche passes all his foreground opponents by, and speaks only in order better to preserve his silence.
Silence (n.) is thinking's fulfillment, not its failure: its saying is stilled only by becoming unable to say what must remain unspoken — and that inability brings it face to face with its matter.