Have you ever heard the wonderful silence just before the dawn? Or the quiet and calm just as a storm ends? Or perhaps you know the silence when you haven’t the answer to a question you’ve been asked, or the hush of a country road at night, or the expectant pause of a room full of people when someone is just about to speak, or, most beautiful of all, the moment after the door closes and you’re alone in the whole house? Each one is different, you know, and all very beautiful if you listen carefully.
It is dark already, and I am out here again, talking, telling the story to the quiet night.
You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart; imagine my heartbeat when you are in this state.
Letters to Felice
Last night your thin walls invited me to the party next door / reminded me I am a quiet person in a quiet life.
“It’s a quiet place, so people talk quietly,” said Naoko. She made a neat pile of fish bones at the edge of her plate and dabbed at her mouth with a handkerchief. “There’s no need to raise your voice here. You don’t have to convince anybody of anything, and you don’t have to attract anyone’s attention.“
Sit and quiet yourself. Luxuriate in a certain memory and the details will come. Let the images flow. You’ll be amazed at what will come out on paper. I’m still learning what it is about the past that I want to write. I don’t worry about it. It will emerge. It will insist on being told.
I need a moment to myself every day, like a child playing with his things. When I travel, I routinely find a quiet place, open my diary and write something in it.