I should not talk so much about myself if there were anybody else whom >>
We seem but to linger in manhood to tell the dreams of our childhood, >>
To a philosopher all news, as it is called, is gossip, and they who ed >>
Sometimes silence is not golden -- just yellow. >>
And Silence, like a poultice, comes to heal the blows of sound. >>
'Tis best to be silent in a bad cause. >>
Silence is the universal refuge, the sequel to all dull discourses and all foolish acts, a balm to our every chagrin, as welcome after satiety as after disappointment; that background which the painter may not daub, be he master or bungler, and which, however awkward a figure we may have made in the foreground, remains ever our inviolable asylum, where no indignity can assail, no personality can disturb us.