Quotes About Mystery

The simplest and most complicated thing in life, is to feel what you cannot describe. "Love it's not supposed to be complicated.

The simplest and most complicated thing in life, is to feel what you cannot describe.

Sometimes I feel like that I don't really know the person next to me.

The deepest secret nobody knows, is the only thing that ever has been real.

One moment, One look... One word... Can change everything like pure magic. Ain't life a sweet mystery!!.

If I talk about Nature, it's not because I know what it is, But because I love it, and that's why I love it, Because when you love you never know what you love, Or why you love, or what love is.

There's something about, "What keeps the mystery in your life fascinating. To discover what you are passionate about in body, mind and soul.

Walnut Trees of Altenburg: The greatest mystery is not that we have been flung at random between the profusion of the earth and the galaxy of the stars, but that in this prison we can fashion images of ourselves sufficiently powerful to deny our nothingness.2

Physical death is only one form of dying. There are other forms of dying: We die whenever fear governs our choices. We die when we sacrifice growth for security. We die whenever we choose a convenient certainty over an inconvenient mystery.

enough. Thus it is owned, possessed, directed by that which it does not know.

Doubt is a form of radical relationship to and respect for mystery. The absence of doubt is a very scary thing. What that leads to is psychological, political, economic, spiritual fundamentalism. It leads to rigidity. It leads to a profound defense of the ego's security needs above all things [...] The absence of doubt ultimately leads to a violation of the mystery itself.

This is the greatest mystery of all: even a bird can be a slave, but even in its cage, it sings.

Maybe there were things in themselves men should not look at, just as there were things in the very deep bottom of the sea that it was better that men did not know about.

You find my words dark. Darkness is in our souls, do you not think?

Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand. My eyes were often full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself out into my bosom. I thought little of the future. I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration.

a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend.

He asked himself what is a woman standing on the stairs in the shadow, listening to distant music, a symbol of. If he were a painter he would paint her in that attitude. Her blue felt hat would show off the bronze of her hair against the darkness and the dark panels of her skirt would show off the light ones. Distant Music he would call the picture if he were a painter.

The mystery of esthetic like that of material creation is accomplished. The artist, like the god of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.

I had never spoken to her, except for a few casual words, and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.

What was after the universe? Nothing. But was there anything round the universe to show where it stopped before the nothing place began?

The end he had been born to serve yet did not see had led him to escape by an unseen path and now it beckoned to him once more and a new adventure was about to be opened to him.

Wonderlawn's lost us for ever. Alis, alas, she broke the glass! Liddell lokker through the leafery, ours is mistery of pain.

And as no man knows the ubicity of his tumulus nor to what processes we shall thereby be ushered nor whether to Tophet or to Edenville in the like way is all hidden when we would backward see from what region of remoteness the whatness of our whoness hath fetched his whenceness.

It darkles, (tinct, tint) all this our funnaminal world. Yon marshpond by ruodmark verge is visited by the tide. Alvemmarea! We are circumveiloped by obscuritads. Man and belves frieren.