Quotes About Mystery

Earth's crammed with Heaven, And every common bush afire with God, But only he who sees takes off his shoes — The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

But of that day and hour no one knows neither the angels in heaven nor the Son but only the Father.' We are not to think that the Son of God as he is God did not know the day or hour but only that his human nature did not know it because his divine nature had not chosen to reveal it to his human nature.

What we cannot comprehend in things divine and infinite, as unto their own nature, that we are not to believe in their revelation.

dear god, whose name i do not know. thank you for my life. i forgot... how BIG... thank you. thank you for my life.

But they seemed to be moving lights, moving in some complex pattern that defied explanation. The image was there for only a moment but it seared itself on his soul. He knew, in his heart, that they were not just stars, not burning bits of gas, but souls, entities. Perhaps even fuzzy children's toys, waving a farewell salute. He felt, in that brief instant, that he truly knew what it meant to touch the face of God.

To be content in utter darkness and ignorance is indeed unmanly, and therefore we think that to love light and find knowledge must always be right. Yet wherever pride has any share in the work, even knowledge and light may be ill pursued. Knowledge is good, and light is good: yet man perished in seeking knowledge, and moths perish in seeking light; and if we, who are crushed before the moth, will not accept such mystery as is needful to us, we shall perish in like manner.

to some of the best and wisest artists among ourselves, it may not be always possible to explain what pretty things they are making … the very perfection of their art is in their knowing so little about it

Never been there, the Middle East, Qatar said vaguely.

Got here half an hour ago and had a look, eyeballin' it, Sawyer said. It's murder, all right. Tell you something else - the sun went down, and it's as dark as the inside of a horses's ass out here. You're sure? Well, I've never actually been inside a horses's ass.

SCHIFFER WAS LEAVING, Dannon asked Carver to do a serious look around the yard. One of the radar buzzers had been going off, Dannon said, and he hadn't been able to isolate why. "Probably another goddamn skunk," Carver said. He pulled his jacket back on and went to look.

Murdered? Somebody murdered him?" Palmer was agog. A thin, soft man with a pitted nose and a bald, bumpy egg-shaped head dotted with dime-sized freckles, he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that said, "NSA, Our Customer Service Pledge: You Talk, We Listen.

John Connolly novel, Every Dead Thing

So what killed him? Virgil asked. I'm thinking aliens. You mean like, Canadians?

It's darker than a black cat's ass in a coal mine, when you get back there.

rang the doorbell, heard a thump, and

Scottsdale, Arizona, who

Sherlock Holmes and that whole Holmes thing—that once you've eliminated the impossible, then whatever remains, must be the truth. What Holmes never admitted was that there is a vast universe of the possible, and sorting through all the possibilities is often impossible.

dealing with a . . . peculiarity. A week after

her. "From what you've told us, the killer

The woman had thick plastic glasses and looked up at them, eyes large as eggs behind the lenses, and asked, "Jeez, who got murdered?

GREER WAS STANDING OVER Cole Purdy's body when Lucas and the guard got to them and Greer was looking shaky and Lucas looked down at Purdy, who was lying on his back, gray eyes open to the hot sun, but already gone dull and blank. Blood spotted the front of his T-shirt, which was pulled tight over his chest: Greer had shot him six times, all the shots in the space of two hands, including two through Purdy's heart.

it. A message was written in purple ink:

be somebody dead . . . maybe

I'll have a rose in my teeth," he said. "And a gold badge.