Quotes About Mystery

Every little thing she does is magic.

I couldn't tell what my mother was feeling. I only knew that I felt as if I had found some precious, mysterious thing I could never name, but that I had searched for my entire life, and now it was finally within reach.

Between the shadows of the earth and the dark depths of the sky, human life lay slumbering, with all its unsolved puzzles.

She was] a strange butterfly which had flown across his garden and which his eyes had continued to follow long after it had disappeared from sight.

I heard nothing, but ever more clearly as the light of the half-moon grew sharper, I thought I could make out a dark shape, and soon, as it came nearer, I saw it. It sat on a horse, a high-boned, haggard white horse. A dark mantle fluttered across the figure's shoulders, and as he flew past, two burning eyes stared at me out of a pale face.

She drifted, feather-like, in tenuous radiance… Her gown, it seemed a thing made out of mist, As though the dewy air Had gathered in a cloud about her form To clothe a shape so fair That nothing coarser could adorn it than A layer of atmosphere.

Nothing would sleep in that cellar.

Those who are willing to be vulnerable move among mysteries.

The darkness has it's own light.

Good magic opens the mysteries to all; bad magic seeks simply to mystify.

Die verborgenen Gedanken in den Köpfen der Anderen sind das große Dunkel, das uns umgibt.

Who can believe that there is no soul behind those luminous eyes?

I peered at his writing, but I could make nothing of it. Then I saw why, and my soul chilled like marble. His writing was running left to right. Not the words in reverse order, but the letter themselves. All of it. It was mirror writing- to be read by the Devil.

Richard Lafargue, villan?n çevre duvar? boyunca uzanan koruluk içindeki küçük göle giden iki yan? a?açl? çak?l ta?? dö?eli yolu a??r ad?mlarla ar??nl?yordu.

So how come it looks so beautiful? How come the moon falls from the sky?

Those who attempt to search into the majesty of God will be overwhelmed with His Glory!

Sing, my tongue, the Saviour's glory, Of His Flesh, the mystery sing; Of the Blood, all price exceeding, Shed by our Immortal King, Destined, for the world's redemption, From a noble Womb to spring.

Night is a stealthy, evil Raven, Wrapt to the eyes in his black wings.

What probing deep Has ever solved the mystery of sleep?

In her eyes a thought Grew sweeter and sweeter, deepening like the dawn, A mystical forewarning.

Night is a stealthy, evil Raven, wrapped to the eyes in his black wings.

And who are you?" cried one agape, Shuddering in the gloaming light. "I know not" said the second Shape, "I only died last night.

Not to prolong a mystery that must already oppress the reader, Mr. Bilkins's cook had, after the manner of her kind, stolen out of the premises before the family were up, and got herself married—surreptitiously and artfully married, as if matrimony were an indictable offence.

Women were like rivers, their banks were unreachable, the night often rang with the cries of the drowned.