Love Quote by William Drummond

Drummond turns silence into an instrument with more range than speech, and the trick is in how he frames it: not as absence, but as lineage. Calling it "the child of love" gives quiet a pedigree, as if real affection naturally produces a wordless language of its own. That metaphor does double work. It flatters intimacy (you are so known you don’t need to explain yourself) while quietly warning that talk can be a downgrade, a clumsy substitute when feeling runs too deep or too true.

The sentence is built like a paradox that keeps escalating. Silence "expresses everything" yet "proclaims more loudly" than the tongue. The exaggeration is the point: Drummond is staging a small revolt against rhetoric. In a culture that prized eloquence and courtly performance, this is a sly demotion of verbal skill. Love, he implies, is at its most credible when it stops auditioning. What’s unsaid becomes evidence: restraint as sincerity, composure as proof of depth.

The subtext also recognizes a social reality: speech is public, accountable, and easily misread; silence can be private, mutually coded, even conspiratorial. Lovers share glances, pauses, and withheld words that outsiders can’t audit. That’s why it "proclaims" so loudly to the right audience and not at all to the wrong one. Drummond is arguing that the highest form of communication isn’t better phrasing; it’s trust so dense it no longer needs narration.