Thanks to FreeFoto.com for this view of Crummock Water, Cumbria

Thinking about silence . . .

I think the first virtue is to restrain the tongue; he approaches nearest to gods who knows how to be silent. (Cato the Elder)

My personal hobbies are reading, listening to music and silence. (Edith Sitwell)

Silence is one of the hardest arguments to refute. (Josh Billings)

‘Tis better to be silent and thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt. (Abraham Lincoln)

Silence is golden, when you can’t think of a good answer. (Mohamed Ali)

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A rather sad poem by Thomas Hardy -

WHERE THE PICNIC WAS

Where we made the fire
In the summer time
Of branch and briar
On the hill to the sea,
I slowly climb
Through winter mire,
And scan and trace
The forsaken place
Quite readily.

Now a cold wind blows,
And the grass is grey,
But the spot still shows
As a burnt circle - aye,
And stick-ends, charred,
Still strew the sward
Whereon I stand,
Last relic of the band
Who came that day!

Yes, I am here
Just as last year,
And the sea breathes brine
From its strange straight line
Up hither, the same
As when we four came,
- But two have wandered far
From this grassy rise
Into urban roar
Where no picnics are,
And one - has shut her eyes
For evermore.

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I like this - The Orchard, by the English painter Thomas Cooper Gotch

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Finally, this is the Waltz from the ballet Coppélia by Léo Delibes, with some marvellous pictures to accompany the music.