Quotes About Enigma

A RIM FEX EN DRA PUSE

Lately, I feel like my life is a book written in a language I don't know how to read.

The ways of Wayne are mysterious and incomprehensible.

Lately, I feel like my life is a book written in a language I don't know how to read.

There's always another secret.

I enjoy things with curious properties, and stupidity is most interesting. The more you study it, the further it flees—and yet the more of it you obtain, the less you understand about it!

There's always another secret

There is always another secret.

There's always another secret.' -Kelsier

All gifts are riddles, all lives/are in the middle of mother-lives.

Only what is mysterious, undiscovered, and veiled attracts us; only what is hidden radiates magic that promises untold possibilities.

It is little enough we know and the rest is darkness.

Live free, child of the mist—and with respect to knowledge we are all children of the mist.

No, no—there are depths, depths! The more I go over it, the more I see in it, and the more I see in it, the more I fear. I don't know what I don't see—what I don't fear!

Everything had something behind it: life was like a long corridor with rows of closed doors.

The whole of anything, is never told.

There was a sort of spell in the sense that nobody in the world knew where she was. It was the first time in her life that this had happened; somebody, everybody appeared to have known before, at every instant of it, where she was; so that she was now suddenly able to put it to herself that that hadn't been a life.

It's her general air of being some one in particular that strikes me. Who is this rare creature, and what is she? Where did you find her, and how did you make her acquaintance?

He was lost in wonder at the mystery of things.

I can't make out what you're up to . . . You strike me as having mysterious purposes — vast designs.

She's beautiful, but I don't say she's easy to know. Ah, she's a thousand and one things!

But Daisy, on this occasion, continued to present herself as an inscrutable combination of audacity and innocence.

orele de aur se scurgeau, plantele sorbeau lumina, enigmaticul vechi palat p?lea ca ceara È™i pe urm?, cînd soarele sc?p?ta, începea s? se împurpureze, iar foile mele foÈ™neau în briza r?t?citoare a Adriaticei.

I saw through to the last sign and symbol, but I could not read her face. I could see only the eyes shining through, huge, fleshy-like luminous beasts, as though I were swimming behind them in the electric effluvia of her incandescent vision.