Quotes About Mystery

Él le cogió la mano y cruzaron la calle hasta el hotel. Intentó leerle el corazón en el apretón de su mano, pero no adivinó nada.

He lay in the dark thinking of all the things he did not know about his father and he realized that the father he knew was all the father he would ever know.

He could see the truck in the moonlight at the top of the rise. He looked off to one side of it to see it the better. There was someone standing beside it. Then they were gone. There is no description of a fool, he said, that you fail to satisfy. Now you're goin to die.

The last thin paring of the old moon hung over the distant mountains to the west. Venus had moved away. With dark a gauzy swarm of stars. He could not guess what they were for so many.

Those who travel desert places do indeed meet with creatures surpassing all description.

They passed, leaving a trail of foxfire shuffled up out of the wet leaves like stars plowed in a ship's wake.

The colt stood against the horse with its head down and the horse was watching, out there past men's knowing, where the stars are drowning and whales ferry their vast souls through the black and seamless sea.

He couldn't remember where he was. The thought made him smile

Satan hath power to assume a pleasing form. Them big blue eyes. Knew more ways to turn a man's head than the devil's grandmother. I dont know where they learn it at. Hell, she wasnt but seventeen.

Me preguntaba de qué soy profesor. Bien, yo profeso la oscuridad. Esa noche disfrazada de día. Y ahora, le deseo lo mejor pero debo irme.

Were there darker provinces of night he would have found them.

The faint light all about, quivering and sourceless, refracted in the rain of drifting soot.

The snow whispered down in the stillness and the sparks rose and dimmed and died in the eternal blackness.

En sus sueños su pálida novia iba hacia él desde una verde bóveda de ramas. Sus pezones como de marga y sus costillas pintadas de blanco. Llevaba un vestido de gasa y sus cabellos oscuros estaban recogidos con peinetas de marfil, peinetas de concha. Su sonrisa, su mirada baja. Por la mañana volvía a nevar. Cuentas de hielo gris en ristra sobre los cables de electricidad.

Tell us where the world went.

I aint sure we've seen these people before. Their kind. I dont know what to do about em even. If you killed em all they'd have to build a annex on to hell.

He'd long been wearing the underclothes of his female victims but now he took to appearing in their outerwear as well. A gothic doll in illfit clothes, its carmine mouth floating detached and bright in the white landscape.

After a while he pulled his hat down over his eyes and stood and placed his hands outstretched on the roof of the cab and rode in that manner. As if he were some personage bearing news for the countryside. As if he were some newfound evangelical being conveyed down out of the mountains....

God) He speaks in stones and trees, the bones of things.

We none of us knew him to speak [Dutch]. Asked him where he'd learned it you know what he said? What did he say. Said off a Dutchman.

Como el primer síntoma de un galucoma frío enpañando al mundo.

Nadie sabe para quien trabaja.

When he rose and turned to go back the tarp was lit from within where the boy had wakened. Sited there in the darkness the frail blue shape of it looked like the pitch of some last venture at the edge of the world. Something all but unaccountable. And so it was.

Music is made out of nothing but some fairly simple rules. Yet it's true that no one made them up. The rules. The notes themselves amount to almost nothing. But why some particular arrangement of these notes should have such a profound effect on our emotions is a mystery beyond even the hope of comprehension. Music is not a language. it has no reference to anything other than itself