In a quiet room, one can think. In a quiet space, one can pray. In the quiet, one can return and reflect after a meeting which one expected to go badly and yet, it did not. One can plan to eat a cheeseburger in a dark and quiet room. One can write in one's diary that he is tired of someone or he can write of someone's joke, the kind which he laughs over, the kind which he wishes he wrote himself. But the greatest privilege of quiet and dark room is that it has a door and one can close it. Lock it even. When one hears a knock, one does not necessarily answer.