Quotes About Mystery

There was a third brother who became a curate, but I don't know much about him…

BY THE PRICKING OF MY THUMBS

THE MAN IN THE WOOD

Bodies under the foundation, though—that's where a lot of the local ghosts come from.

JAMES ALEXANDER MALCOLM MACKENZIE FRASER,' " she read aloud. "Yes, I know him." Her hand dropped lower, brushing back the grass that grew thickly about the stone, obscuring the line of smaller letters at its base.

I discarded jars of dried snails; OIL OF EARTHWORMS—which appeared to be exactly that; VINUM MILLEPEDATUM—millipedes, these crushed to pieces and soaked in wine; POWDER OF EYGYPTIANE MUMMIE—an indeterminate-looking dust, whose origin I thought more likely a silty streambank than a pharaoh's tomb; PIGEONS BLOOD, ant eggs, a number of dried toads painstakingly packed in moss, and HUMAN SKULL, POWDERED. Whose? I wondered.

She saw it, and an extraordinary change came over her. She seemed scarcely to move, and yet all at once, her whole person was focused on Myers. No white showed around her eyes; they were black and fathomless, shining in the firelight. She was still short and heavy, but with only the slightest change of posture, depth of bosom and width of hip were emphasized, suddenly curved in a promise of lewd abundance. Myers swallowed, audibly.

Just as a signpost warns of rockfalls near a cliff-edge, the standing stones were meant to mark a spot of danger. A spot where Ã¢â'¬Â¦ what? Where the crust of time was thin? Where a gate of some sort stood ajar? Not that the makers of the circles would have known what it was they were marking. To them, the spot would have been one of terrible mystery and powerful magic; a spot where people disappeared without warning. Or appeared, perhaps, out of thin air.

And the next thing I remember is waking in France, in the Abbey of Sainte Anne de Beaupré, with my head throbbing like a drum and someone I couldn't see giving me something cool to drink.

And some say the loch's bottomless—got a hole in the center deeper than anything else in Scotland. On

the Two Brothers stone, and that was Norse, wasn't it?

No hay ninguna duda de que Dios obra de formas misteriosas

No entiendo que la gente no se dé cuenta de que Dios tiene un travieso sentido del humor

Diana Gabaldon

That lovely cool face told him nothing.

Something about the ragged beggar seemed faintly familiar, too.

But here," he said, so softly I could barely hear him, "here in the dark, with you … I have no name.

What, she's taken the hairs off her honeypot?

You didn't say there was a stone circle," I said. I felt faint, and not only from the heat and damp.

In short, it stood an object of terror and delight!

The headline read RETURNED FROM THE DEAD. Beneath was a picture of Claire Randall, twenty years younger, but looking little different than she did now, bar

If ever you find yourself in the midst of paradox

TWO DOWN," Roger whispered.

I knew Frank hadn't been celibate since my disappearance. In his late forties, he was still lean and muscular, dark and sleek, a very handsome man. Women clustered about him at cocktail parties like bees round a honeypot, emitting small hums of sexual excitement.