Quotes About Secrets

It uses twenty-six substitution ciphers," he told her. "One for each letter of the alphabet. But the problem is that it requires a keyword to solve.

Di cosa non son capaci di persuaderci, queste donne, quando si mettono d'accordo per lasciarci brancolare nel buio.

Salailemalla salaisuuksiaan käy tarpeettoman suureksi ero sen välillä, mitä on itselleen ja mitä teeskentelee olevansa muille.

Something in his manner makes me want to confide things to him I've never told anyone. Even painful things, shameful things. I didn't know how badly I wanted to share them.

If you really want to know me, I said, we'll have to start with the witches.

You and me-we've whored together. We've fought together.And I still dunna understand how ye always seems to know where the money is hidden and the liquor is stored and the scandals are richest.' It's a gift.

The children hid themselves, with receptive ears, round corners.

Norma Wallace stood on a bed of pine needles deep in the Mississippi woods

Mairi stared at Parlabane with an expression he had seen too often down the years: that look of distress at having discovered precisely how deep the rabbit hole goes, and what darkness lay at its end.

One of history's secrets is that the revolutionaries' appeal in the eyes of posterity owes much to the traits they share with the world they overthrew.

If you had such a secret, I And all my fiendish flock, my incubi, Succubi, imps and cacodemons, would have leapt Out of our bath of brimming brimstone, crying Eureka, cherchez, la femme!—Emperors Would be colonizing you, their mistresses Patronizing you, ministers of state Governmentalizing you. And you Would be eulogized, lionized, probably Canonized for your divine mishap.

I'm a parent, especially when you've had the intense parenting the way I had. It's all in the bank. It's all in the great experience bank. Those are your secrets. That's the stuff that makes your work rich, that's what you dip into.

This is why she doesn't put much stock in so-called secrets, or the meaningfulness of untold recollections that become, in their airtight echo chambers, the supposed stuff of secrets. They are only a way to become retrospectively enraged at someone else so that your own adult weaknesses can be tidily excused.

In the time between the two wars, a British colonial officer said that with the invention of the airplane the world has no secrets left. However, he said, there is one last mystery. There is a large country on the Roof of the World, where strange things happen. There are monks who have the ability to separate mind from body, shamans and oracles who make government decisions, and a God-King who lives in a skyscraper-like palace in the Forbidden City of Llhasa.

What lies lurk in kisses.

Thirty-seven years later I found out for whom he had been searching: Charlotte Lobjoie, a woman who had born him a son, Jean Marie, in March 1918.40

If a man doesn't kiss you, he doesn't want to kiss you. If a man doesn't kiss you on the mouth, he doesn't find you attractive. A fist bump is not a kiss. An ass pat is not a kiss. Don't trust a man who keeps your kisses a secret.

If he had been a monster, I wouldn't have been interested in writing about him. The sorts of crimes that interest me are not the ones committed by psychopaths. I'm interested in apparently ordinary people who, under life's unbearable pressure, burst through the very fine membrane that separates our daylight selves from the secret darkness that lives in every one of us.

pact of silence".

It's better to have no secrets. Lies are always harder to manage than the truth.

Something impossibly heavy that held me in thrall, a scrap of the divine not good for my soul, a thing that should never have been fixed in place on tape to be repeatedly overheard, a thing that stood between me and the telling of secrets.

Most nights she went with the moon, and when it was round she stayed in my biggest bedroom and wouldn't answer the thing that asked her to let it out (let you out from where? let me out from the small, the hot, the take me out of the fire i am ready i am hard like the stones you ate, bitter like those husks) the moonlight striped her, marked out places where the whispering thing would slip through and she would unfold.

Do you think that maybe we're able to love someone best when that person doesn't know how we feel?

There were days when she'd open her eyes and be him for six hours in a row; she knew all his secrets and nothing he had done seemed wrong to her, she knew how it was, how things had been, she was there. There were days when he touched the tip of her nose and it was enough, a miracle of plenty. But who finds happiness interesting?