Quotes About Mystery

The thing is, you throw brains and souls into an animal and stir, you don't really know what you're going to get.

I want to do mysterious and improbable things alongside a fierce and beautiful girl who looks like a doll brought to life by a sorcerer.

And strangely fold the hours as the end draws near.

On the second Sabbat of Twelfthmoon, in the city of Weep, a girl fell from the sky.

This new thing between them it was... Astral. It reshaped the air, and it was in her, too—a warming and softening, a pull—and for that moment, her hands in his, Karou felt as powerless as starlight tugged toward the sun in the huge, strange warp of space.

Eril-Fane let out a slow breath. "Were you afraid of the dark as a child?" A chill snaked up Lazlo's spine. He thought again of the crypt at the abbey, and the nights locked in with dead monks. "Yes," he said simply. "Even when you knew, rationally, that there was nothing in it that could harm you." "Yes." "Well. We are all children in the dark, here in Weep.

It was a rule of secret-keeping, in which she was well-versed: Ask not, lest ye be asked.

the air seeming to gather around her like held breath. As if this whole place were a story about her.

His gaze was heat across her cheeks, her lips. It was touch. His eyes were hypnotic, his brows black and velvet. He was copper and shadow, honey and menace, the severity of knife-blade cheekbones and a widow's peak like the point of a dagger.

Our priestesses have always taught that divinity, by virtue of its great power, must encompass both beauty and terror.

Then it was all over. Or maybe it wasn't. The ones who know can't tell us, and the ones who tell us don't know.

Karou had things to do. Sometimes they took a few hours; other times, she was gone for days and returned weary and disheveled, maybe pale, maybe sunburned, or with a limp, or possibly a bite mark, and once with an unshakable fever that had turned out to be malaria.

Don't look at me like that," said Ruza. "Like what?" "Like I'm a beautiful book you're about to open and plunder with your greedy mad eyes.

The goddess of assassins has tasted my blood, he thought, and he wondered if she liked it, and wanted more.

Now more than ever she struck him like a fairy in a tale—a haunted one with shadowed eyes and a sting like a scorpion.

This, he never doubted, was magic.

There was no more happiness. But under the misery, there was hope. That the name brimstone had given her was more than a whim. That this was not the end.

There were two mysteries, actually: one old, one new. The old one opened his mind, but it was the new one that climbed inside, turned several circle, and settled in with a grunt--like a satisfied dragon in a new cozy lair. And there it would remain--the mystery, in his mind--exhaling enigma for years to come.

A substance so far beyond their ken that they might have been carrion birds pecking at the eyes of god.

Her ignorance was like standing in pure dark that could be either a closet or a vast, starless night.

There was only one possible answer, as plain as it was disturbing. That she was not, in fact, human.

Once upon a time, chimaera descended by the thousands into a cathedral beneath the earth. And never left.

Strange the dreamer," they called him. "That dreamer, Strange.

I want very much to carpe you," it says. "I may try to surprise you, though, if that's okay. Also, I can't feel my face and hands.