Silence is the element
in which great things fashion themselves together,
that at length they may emerge,
full-formed and majestic, into the daylight of life,
which they are henceforth to rule.
Speech is of time, silence is of eternity.
It is only when life is sluggish within us that we speak:
only at the moment when reality lies far away,
and we do not wish to be conscious of brethren.
And no sooner do we speak than something warns us
that the divine gates are closing.
There is an instinct of the superhuman truths within us
which warns us that it is dangerous to be silent
with one whom we do not wish to know, or do not love:
for words may pass between men,
but let silence have its instance of activity,
and it will never efface itself.