Quotes About Mystery

Nothing is so logical and nothing appears so absurd as the ocean.

The night was starless and very dark. Without doubt, in the gloom some mighty angel was standing, with outstretched wings, awaiting the soul.

Do what we may to shape the mysterious stuff of which our lives are composed, the dark threads of our destiny will always re-emerge.

To crush fanaticism and to venerate the infinite, such is the law. Let us not confine ourselves to prostrating ourselves before the tree of creation, and to the contemplation of its branches full of stars. We have a duty to labor over the human soul, to defend the mystery against the miracle, to adore the incomprehensible and reject the absurd, to admit, as an inexplicable fact, only what is necessary, to purify belief, to remove superstitions from above religion; to clear God of caterpillars.

He fell to the seat, she by his side. There were no more words. The stars were beginning to shine. How was it that their lips met? How is it that the birds sing, the the snow melts, that the rose opens, that May blooms, that the dawn whitens behind the black trees on the shivering summit of the hills?

Who can calculate the trajectory of a molecule? How do we know the creation of worlds is not determined by the falling of grains of sand? Who, after all, knows the reciprocal ebb and flow of the infinitely big and the infinitely small, the reverberation of causes in the chasms of a being, the avalanches of creation? A

It may indeed be said that the word is never a more splendid mystery than when it travels in a man's mind from thought to conscience and back again to thought.

When we reach out to pluck a flower the stem trembles, seeming both to shrink and to offer itself. The human body has something of this tremor at the moment when the mysterious hand of death reaches out to pluck a soul.

Il crepuscolo piace solo ai pipistrelli.

Abstruse speculations contain vertigo.

Adorable ambuscades of providence!

He fell to the seat, she by his side. There no more words. The stars were beginning to shine. How was it that their lips met? How is it that the birds sing, the the snow melts, that the rose opens, that May blooms, that the dawn whitens behind the black trees on the shivering summit of the hills?

In vain we chisel, as best we can, the mysterious block of which our life is made, the black vein of destiny reappears continuously.

Some odd things were found; among other things the skeleton of an ourang-outang which disappeared from the Jardin des Plantes in 1800, a disappearance probably connected with the famous and incontestable appearance of the devil in the Rue des Bernardins in the last year of the eighteenth century. The poor devil finally drowned himself in the sewer.

No one could have told: all that was known was, that when he returned from Italy he was a priest.

This garden was no longer a garden, it was a colossal thicket, that is to say, something as impenetrable as a forest, as densely populated as a city, as tremulous as a nest, as tenebrous as a cathedral, as aromatic as a bouquet, as lonely as a tomb, as much a living thing as a crowd.

L'hydre-Univers tordant son corps écaillé d'astres.

Qué había esta vez en la mirada de la joven? Marius no hubiera podido decirlo. No había nada y lo había todo. Fue un relámpago extraño. [...] Es una especie de ternura indecisa que se revela al azar y que espera. Es una trampa que la inocencia arma sin saberlo, donde atrapa a dos corazones sin quererlo.

Pretty, but badly dressed, breath of an oracle which had passed by her and vanished after depositing in her heart one of the two germs which must afterwards fill the whole life of the woman, coquetry. Love is the other.

Loving in ignorance, she loved with all the more passion. She did not know whether it was good or evil, beneficent or dangerous, necessary or accidental, eternal or transitory, permitted or prohibited: she loved

Le mot tantôt comme un passant mystérieux de l'âme, tantot comme un polype noir de l'océan pensê.

Monseigneur Bienvenu was simply a man who took note of the exterior of mysterious questions without scrutinizing them, and without troubling his own mind with them, and who cherished in his own soul a grave respect for darkness.

The Unknown is an ocean. What is conscience? It is the compass of the Unknown. Thought

I see a dark light.