Quotes About Mystery

When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance.

All chance, direction, which thou canst not see

Experiences with Angels do not occur to people by chance. There is a sort of run-up to the experience.

Math can explain the reason there's one out of four chance that I'd have blue eyes. But it doesn't explain why me.

... plunged into chance, --that is to say, swallowed up in Providence

I was Pandora, bound and determined to open that box.

Not a creature was stirring, not even an elf.

Great little One! whose all-embracing birth Lifts Earth to Heaven, stoops Heaven to Earth.

The irony of Christmas is always upon the poor in heart; the mystery of the solstice is always upon the rest of us.

As popular as Christmas is, it would be even bigger if it had vampires.

What means this glory round our feet, The Magi mused, "more bright than morn!" And voices chanted clear and sweet, "To-day the Prince of Peace is born.

P.S. If it's not a secret, will you tell me how you got my dollhouse inside our living room last Christmas? I know its too big to fit down the chimney. I measured.

Gazzy sniffed the air. "That's explosives. It smells like Christmas!" Okay, so we've had somewhat untraditional Christmases. With explosives.

Elves don't shimmer

She told me that love has a magic all its own.

Christmas is everything that God would do, and nothing that we would imagine Him doing.

She blinked once, then twice, and yet again, sure what she viewed was just another part of this fantasy world that she had stepped into when her feet touched the green grass of Ireland.

Confusion is the best form of communication. It's left to be unexplained.

Communication with the dead is only a little more difficult than communication with some of the living.

Conversation. What is it? A Mystery! It's the art of never seeming bored, of touching everything with interest, of pleasing with trifles, of being fascinating with nothing at all.

All true language is incomprehensible, like the chatter of a beggar's teeth.

The triumphs of a mysterious non-meeting are desolate ones; unspoken phrases, silent words.

It's not even known how many kinds of cells there are in the brain. If you were looking for a periodic table of the brain, there is no such thing. I really like to think of the brain as a computer.

A computer and a cat are somewhat alike - they both purr, and like to be stroked, and spend a lot of the day motionless. They also have secrets they don't necessarily share.