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You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts.
And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a pastime a diversion and wasetime.
And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered.
For thought is a bird, a bird of space, that in a cage of words may unfold its wings, but cannot fly.
For thought is a bird, a bird of space, that in a cage of words may unfold its wings, but cannot fly, but cannot fly.
And sound is a pastime a diversion and wasetime.
And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered.
For thought is a bird, a bird of space, that in a cage of words may unfold its wings, but cannot fly.
For thought is a bird, a bird of space, that in a cage of words may unfold its wings, but cannot fly.
-Kahlil Gibran