Quotes About Mystery

Sharks are like ax-murderers, Martin. People react to them with their guts. There's something crazy and evil and uncontrollable about them.

God isn't going to scribble across the sky, The shark is gone.

About her husband, i did actually enquire, but she held her private life so fucking tightly, like a tourist clutching a handbag on the A train,..

They watched the flying foxes wheel above them, like shadows of thoughts, things so indistinct they would not exist without two witnesses.

heard the creaking of the ship's timbers and wondered

Well, there are times when we know where people are, yes? This would not be one of those times.

I'm not supposed to be here, Xy.

My name is Abraham van Helsing. And I've seen more than you can possibly believe exist." "I don't recognize your accent, boy. Where do you come from?" "I'm Dutch." "You sound more German than Dutch." "My mother is German. I'm told I got the accent from her. But I am Dutch.

In the course of these pages, I have called the idea of the mysterious woman a cliché, and so it was. But, like other clichés, it has a certain psychological reality.

When you dive into the sea, you are diving into the origins of us all.

The octopuses seemed to be neither friends nor enemies, but in a state of complicated coexistence.

Vivo de aquello que los otros no saben de mí

It is closer to the truth to say that God is crazy than that God is reasonable. I suspect God merely smiles when someone calls him crazy, but shakes His head and frowns when someone calls Him reasonable.

To exercise what Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy called a right that is "at the heart of liberty"— namely, the right to determine for oneself the meaning of life and the mystery of human existence—is to tell God, "Get off my throne.

other little wooden fences can come down too. How? When? God only knows.

I believe we find imaginative satisfaction in stories that end with weddings because we live in a world that will end with a wedding. The Bible tells the story of history, a story that is mysteriously 'built into' the structure of our minds and practices, so that even writers who resist this story cannot help but leave traces of it—faint and distorted as they may be—on every page.

Where cobras come from. And not the hot ones, like Ian.

Honestly, I think that girl reads minds as a hobby.

The island took the Lighthouse.

Mrs. Grace Cahill….

But this time I see a new person. Silent. Still. Someone I believe I know. WHO ARE YOU? I move closer but the face is shrouded, the features blurred as if seen through a dirty lens. I'm tempted to run away, but I don't. I know where running leads. To the hole. To death. I know I can no longer fear.

They were actually going to keep all four of us together. Tinker, Tailor, Sailor, Traitor.

If I am dead, then death is cold.

I screamed, which means I can't tell you the actual words.