God's voice is still and quiet and easily buried under an avalanche of clamour.

Make a poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came.

Look in and see him looking out. He is not always quiet, but there have been times when happiness has come to him, unasked, like the stillness on the water that holds the evening clear while it subsides - and he let go what he was not.

He is thinking quietly: I should not have got out of the habit of prayer.

In the afternoon when school was out and the last one had left with his little dirty snuffling nose, instead of going home I would go down the hill to the spring where I could be quiet and hate them.

Let us be silent, that we may hear the whispers of the gods.

His eyes fixed on mine for an instant, then he turned back to the fire.

Instead of describing sitting meditation as the practice of concentration, looking deeply, and getting insight, I like to describe sitting as enjoying doing nothing.

Walk slowly, but not so slowly that you draw too much attention to yourself. This is a kind of invisible practice. Enjoy nature and your own serenity without making others uncomfortable or making a show of it.

One bird sits still Watching the work of God:

Let there always be quiet, dark churches in which men can take refuge.

Let there be a place somewhere in which you can breathe naturally, quietly, and not have to take your breath in continuous short gasps. A place where your mind can be idle, and forget its concerns, descend into silence, and worship the Father in secret.