Quotes About Mystery

Your anatomy is a mystery that nobody bothers explaining to us. Even when we think we have mastered one woman's body, every body is different.

Something that had the quality of a dimly lit stage set just before the curtains rise on opening night. There was a rhythm to it, a beckoning, and a bittersweet tear in time.

That women are mysterious and unknowable is something every young man grows up believing. Men, on the other hand, never think of themselves as mysterious or confusing, and we are often at a loss as to why women want to figure us out.

There are things you can only say with a canyon. Or smoke moving across a vally toward the mist.

I have lived with magic and without magic, and I can tell you with certainty that a life with magic is better....

Dead … might not be quiet at all.

She was whispering into it in some language that sounded like butterflies drowning in honey.

There was something about the star, rising above the stable, that still pulled a crowd in from the fields.

Just beyond your sight, life might be moving in ways that were moments away from being revealed to you.

You could have lost your gloves in the fog and found them half an hour later, still suspended in the air at wrist height.

trouble is like the ocean. It covers two thirds of the world.

Thoran, watching him, stretched out his paws and allowed

auma change in Liz, denoting that she is the equivalent of pregnant ("eggnant"?) because of the kindling of the bronze egg by Zanna.

My definition of magic emphasizes human connections with the universe, so that people are open to the workings of the universe and the universe is responsive to us.

Kyle was busy helping Holmes figure out that the Red-Headed League was just a clever ploy pulled by some robbers to get a red-haired pawnbroker to leave his shop long enough for them to dig a tunnel from his basement to the bank next door when the librarian's voice jolted him out of London and brought

Chris Grabenstein

Chris Grabenstein

The Westing Game.

Well, not to be mysterious like the Benedict Society

Chris Grabenstein

Riley scooched through a hole he knew about in the fence and carefully headed toward Mr. Jenkins's elevated back porch. It was made of concrete and free of snow, shielded by an angled aluminum awning overhead. As he moved closer, Riley could see the tops of a pair of tan boots peeking out of a wooden crate pushed into a corner where the porch's railings met the house's brick wall.

Chris Grabenstein

Chris Grabenstein

some paw prints on the sidewalk. Something that might help us figure out which way