He says, this silence of More’s, it was never really silence, was it? It was loud with his treason; it was… — Hilary Mantel
He says, this silence of More’s, it was never really silence, was it? It was loud with his treason; it was quibbling as far as quibbles would serve him, it was demurs and cavils, suave ambiguities. It was fear of plain words, or the assertion that plain words pervert themselves; More’s dictionary, against our dictionary. You can have a silence full of words. A lute retains, in its bowl, the notes it has played. The viol, in its strings, holds a concord. A shriveled petal can hold its scent, a prayer can rattle with curses; an empty house, when the owners have gone out, can still be loud with ghosts.
p. 597Source: Wikiquote · CC BY-SA 4.0
More from this book
The cardinal used to say, the English will forgive a king anything, until he tries to tax them.
p. 332
A lie is no less a lie because it is a thousand years old.
p. 525
When have I, when have I ever forced anyone to do anything, he starts to say: but Richard cuts in, “No, you don’t, I agree, it’s just that you are practiced at persuading, and sometimes it’s quite difficult, sir to distinguish being persuaded by you from being knocked down in street and stamped on.”
p. 406
