Quotes About Perplexity

We say, how did it happen? We ask ourselves." The duke sniffs. "We ask ourselves, but by the steaming blood of Christ we have no bloody answer." The steaming blood of Christ. It's an oath worthy of Thomas Howard, the senior duke.

I really don't get this whole oranges thing. It's like, does he want to eat them or go out with them?

My reaction was that the Yankees had outdone themselves this time. I wondered how on earth they had obtained the photographs. That there was something fishy about the whole thing was beyond doubt, but I could not figure out exactly how the trick had been carried out.

Where did it get hit? I can't tell," she said.

I thought you could use a little nonsense," she told him, which worried him a little.

My point is that things become weird and pointless if you examine them for too long.

things become weird and pointless if you examine them for too long.

The children had become wriggly and giggly, almost as if they were drunk. They seemed unable to sit still. They were sliding of their chairs, constantly knocking cutlery onto the floor, and talking in high-pitched voices over the top of one another. Alice didn't know if this was normal behavior or not. It wasn't exactly relaxing. Nick had his jaw clenched, as if this dinner were a horrible medical procedure he had to endure.

when I tried to explain my job. I'm sure it has never

She'd noticed before how middle-aged women were obsessed with the topic of age, always laughing about it, moaning about it, going on and on about it, as if the process of aging were a tricky puzzle they were trying to solve. Why were they so mystified by it?

It was the not knowing. The not fucking knowing.

Good Lord. The first person she sees is Mick Drummond, with his ancient bobbing head. Would that man never die? Was he immortal? Was he real?

I wasn't sure if the word boys should mean dim or incomprehensible. I was hovering between the two, with a healthy dose of testosterone-poisoned.

A hand closed around her arm, warm and hard, and it could possibly have been comforting if she had possessed the faintest idea whose appendage it was.

She shines and nobody knows what to do with her.

You know that feeling when you're suddenly startled out of a deep sleep, and you're in that hazy middle world where you're not sure what's real—like maybe you actually could be chasing after an ice cream truck wearing only fishing waders and a canary yellow bridesmaid's dress, or you're just one answer away from winning a year's supply of adult diapers on a Japanese game show? —SINGLE-MINDED

Sometimes a simple question could have a complicated answer.

Human affairs are so obscure and various that nothing can be clearly known.

I've asked these guys in rock bands with all the 18-wheelers driving to the venue how they make money. I just don't understand it. But I don't understand a lot of things.

What, in all very seriousness, the hell was going on?

But of course, very few people are Dexter. This is generally a good thing, but in this case it came in handy to be me. Four months after reading a story in the paper about a missing boy, I read a similar story. The boys were around the same age; details like that always ring a small bell and send a Mister Rogers whisper trickling through my brain: "Hello, neighbor.

Oh, my God, he's doing that thing again," Jackie said, staring at me as if I was a piece of alien technology that had just turned itself on. "You know, where he goes inside the guy's head.

Mr. Mustache spoke up, again without moving any facial muscles. "I neeeed," he said, drawing out the word pointlessly, "to learn Who. You. Are." That made even less sense than what Matthews had said, and I could think of no reply more penetrating than, "Oh, uh-huh Ã¢â'¬Â¦Ã¢â'¬Â It must have sounded just as feeble to him as it did to me, because he moved at last, turning his entire head in my direction and flipping up the sunglasses with one manicured finger.

Coincidence is always possible. Strange and improbable things happen every day, and we accept them and simply scratch our heads like rubes in the big city, and say, "Gollee, ain't that somethin'.