People who are going to heaven don’t talk much.
Breaking the quiet is a sin. It’s like breaking a delicious siesta to answer a question about the time. The happiest people are always interested in something beside themselves. They would not look away from what's interesting unless something urgent have broken their attention.
And it should never, ever be “thirty-two past four, goddammit.”
I have never experienced a brilliant flash of inspiration by talking. We are already overloaded with information. Everything had been said. Nature showed all the facts we need to survive, if we cared enough to shut up and think through them. And if we didn't care enough to think, then we don't really care. And if we didn't care, why should anyone?
Yes, talk releases some pressure and offers validation - “Yes, I heard you the first time.” - but that's all that it does. I've had moments when, under the “Thou shall not kill” commandment, I had to talk. And that kind of talk tastes like an oral hangover. They either come out too hard or too brain-fart-y.
(On behalf of everyone who has heard me, I apologize for finding out too late: My mouth should never be released within anyone’s hearing range.)
Hence, whenever I can get away with it, I smile/frown/┌П┐(◣_◢)┌П┐and hope that my telepathic abilities have improved since the last time I rode a unicorn.
But if they couldn't hear it through the silence, then what words could have conveyed our thoughts better? If they couldn't hear it through the silence, why suffer them through the hell of a rambling conversation?