Quotes About Mystery

There is always another story / There is more than meets the eye.

Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?

his large, expressive hands hovering over the tiny circle of blood marring her fluffy cardigan, as though like a magician he could remove the wound and restore the woman. But he could not. That wasn't his gift. Fortunately for Gamache he had others.

He'd seen Gamache go into homes, warehouses, forests where they knew heavily

crevices. There was a noise in his

It was one of life's little mysteries that this woman she had absolutely no respect for, could lay her flat.

The ways of the Creator, he knew, were hard to fathom. But not nearly as hard as the ways of the created.

Now he had her full attention. Not only because she wanted to know what had happened, but because anyone who'd get up at two in the morning to smack a melon in the dark deserves attention. Perhaps even medical attention.

Peter swept aside Yogi Tea and Harmony Herbal Blend, though he hesitated a second over the chamomile. .... But no. Violent death demanded Earl Grey.

It was like being in an exciting movie, except I didn't know whether it was a romance or a comedy.

Who knows what goes on in my mind? I will be the last to know. Even

I know there is an unseen power at work of which we have little comprehension, but I don't really feel I can consult with Jesus about my basoomas.

Perhaps I am dead. I wonder how you would know? If you died in your sleep and woke up dead, who would let you know?

As I have said with huge wisdomosity many times, boys the world over are a bloody mystery.

This is why aliens won't talk to us .

The only way to tell if someone is a bodiless witch is by the deep wrinkle lines around her neck. At night when these witches go to sleep their heads separate from their bodies. Dragging their intestines along, they fly around to places where there's blood and death. The heads fly so fast that no one has ever seen the faces, only their shiny red eyes and sometimes the shadow of their heads and entrails. Once she finds a dead body, the bodiless witch nestles against the corpse all night.

You see them? You see the things that float and flop about you and through you ever moment of your life? You see the creatures that form what men call the pure air and the blue sky? Have I not succeeded in breaking down the barrier; have I not shown you worlds that no other living men have seen?

I could not write about "ordinary people" because I am not in the least interested in them.

There are horrors beyond life's edge that we do not suspect, and once in a while man's evil prying calls them just within our range.

All I want is to know things. The black gulph of the infinite is before me ...

To me there is nothing more fraught with mystery & terror than a remote Massachusetts farmhouse against a lonely hill. Where else could an outbreak like the Salem witchcraft have occurred?

More wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is the secret lore of the ocean. Blue, green, grey, white, or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent. All my days I have watched it and listened to it, and I know it well. At first it told to me only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but with the years it grew more friendly and spoke of other things; of things more strange and more distant in space and time.

Something terrible came to the hills and valleys on that meteor, and something terrible -- though I know not in what proportion -- still remains.

Writin' songs is like a mystery. The most difficult thing to do is have a good idea. If you have a decent idea, the songs are the easy part. Actually having something to say is the hard part. If you get an idea for a song, then it pulls you along.