Quotes About Mystery

With Mom, what went up must come down, and it was a mystery what exact combination would make life too much for her.

If London was an alien city, Edinburgh was another planet

Whole worlds exist beneath the surface. And maybe you can't see down there, Michael thought, but there's a part of you that knows.

Something about the memory caused him to tear up, to think again about the unknowable nature of the people we love.

There was nothing explicit between them, nothing more than that slightly open door. And yet . . . what could be more alluring? In

Charisma is a mysterious and powerful thing. I have it in limited supply, and that which I do have functions under highly specialized conditions.

Why do washing machines eat socks? Do they taste good? Should I eat socks?

Mom, I have to go. I think this Matt character is here. Are you sure it's him? Julie peered into the car as the window lowered. "I see a maniacal-looking guy with brightly-colored candy in one hand, and he's waving a sickle with the other. Oh! He's beckoning me to the car. This must be my ride.

Finn was nowhere to be found online.

Too much information, and yet, in her case, not enough. In a world of diminishing mystery, the unknown persists.

Odd things made him love her.

He looks up at her, and behind her, at the sky, which holds more stars than he ever has seen at one time, crowded together, a mess of dust and gems.

She was like that, excited and delighted by little things, crossing her fingers before any remotely unpredictable event, like tasting a new flavor of ice cream, or dropping a letter in a mailbox. It was a quality he did not understand. It made him feel stupid, as if the world contained hidden wonders he could not anticipate, or see.

She was like that, excited and delighted by little things, crossing her fingers before any remotely unpredictable event, like tasting a new flavor of ice cream, or dropping a letter in a mailbox. It was a quality he did not understand. It made him feel stupid, as if the world contained hidden wonders he could not anticipate, or see. He

Why do I write? To investigate the mystery of existence. To tolerate myself. To get closer to everything that is outside of me.

The artist himself is often surprised at the finished work of art. He cannot tell 'how it happened', nor could he repeat the feat at someone's bidding.

You never know people, do you? You can work with 'em for twenty years; you don't know 'em at all.

I try not to think too much or be too impatient, and let the back of my brain do its mysterious work.

Writing by hand is a way of letting mystery into my writing. But I'm constantly trying to figure out how to do this job. It's a work in progress.

One of the things I find most mysterious in Picasso's work is what I would call the 'unlocation of place.

One of the things that made Star Wars work was the kids didn't know who their dad was.

I don't believe that there are no spiritual beings around us. I don't know what to call them, I don't know how they work. But I know they're there

Our Lord God doeth work like a printer who setteth the letters backwards; we see and feel well his setting, but we shall see the print yonder - in the life to come.

If I've done my work well, I vanish completely from the scene. I believe it is invasive of the work when you know too much about the writer.