Quotes About Mystery

When a writer doesn't show his face, he becomes a local symptom of God's famous reluctance to appear.

Her eyes had to adjust to the night sky. She walked away from the house, out of the spill of electric light, and the sky grew deeper. She watched for a long time and it began to spread and melt and go deeper still, developing strata and magnitudes and light-years in numbers so unapproachable that someone had to invent idiot names to represent the arrays of ones and zeros and powers and dominations because only the bedtime language of childhood can save us from awe and shame.

Something lurked inside the truth.

Miracles share the landscape with death.

There's a dolphin's brain in my in-box but come see me in forty-eight hours.

What ambiguity there is in exalted things. We despise them a little.

The desert was clairvoyant, this is what he'd always believed, that the landscape unravels and reveals, it knows future as well as past.

All human existence is a trick of light.

I have only a bare working knowledge of the human brain but it's enough to make me proud to be an American. Your brain has a trillion neurons and every neuron has ten thousand little dendrites. The system of inter-communication is awe-inspiring. It's like a galaxy that you can hold in your hand, only more complex, more mysterious. Why does this make you proud to be an American? The infant's brain develops in response to stimuli. We still lead the world in stimuli.

Everyone was a spook or dupe or asset, a double, courier, cutout or defector, or was related to one. We were all linked in a vast and rhythmic coincidence, a daisy chain of rumor, suspicion and secret wish.

Sleep was out there somewhere over the curve of the earth.

The police had consulted Adele T. on a number of occasions and she had led them to two bludgeoned bodies, a Syrian in a refrigerator and a cache of marked bills totaling six hundred thousand dollars, although in each instance, the report concluded, the police had been looking for something else. The American mystery deepens.

Are secrets a tunnel to a dreamworld where you control events?

Their true lives lie below, even now beginning to reassemble themselves, calling this very flesh out of the air, in mail waiting to be opened, in telephones ringing and paper work on office desks, in the chance utterance of a name.

Speed is the last excitement left, the one thing we haven't used up, still naked in its potential, the mysterious black gift that thrills the millions.

No one knows the day or the hour.

What is a nucleotide ? You don't know, do you? Yet these are the building blocks of life. What good is knowledge if it just floats in the air? It goes from computer to computer. It changes and grows every second of every day. But nobody actually knows anything.

Abbiamo bisogno di sapere cose che gli altri non sanno. È quello che nessuno sa di te che ti permette di conoscerti.

If the eye is a mystery, totally forget the ear. Just say 'cochlea' to somebody, they look at you like, 'Who's this guy?' There's this while world right inside our own body.

All this I am projecting, of course. I'll never know for sure. We can't fully understand what plagues each other's hearts, much less our own at times. Ultimately even our best friends are unknowable to us.

My heart has followed, all my days, something I cannot name.

With regard to ghosts, while we have never believed in them, we have always been afraid of them.

Emotions, we now know, change the way the human mind solves problems—the emotional system changes how the cognitive system operates. So, if aesthetics would change our emotional state, that would explain the mystery.

Little is known about her. We are assured, however, that the same damnable involvements that obsess us obsess her too. Copulation. Strangeness. Applause.