Quotes About Mystery

Margery Allingham

Margery Allingham

Meanwhile Crumb Street, never a place of beauty, that afternoon was at its worst. The fog slopped over its low houses like a bucketful of cold soup over a row of dirty stoves. The

There are, fortunately, very few people who can say that they have actually attended a murder.

Genius is another word for magic, and the whole point of magic is that it is inexplicable.

We are our own terra incognita, the country on maps where dragons lurk.

Our mothers always remain the strangest, craziest people we've ever met.

Our mothers always remain the strangest, craziest people we've ever met.

You alone became the outer surface of my life, the side I never see, and you will be that, the unknown part of me, until I die.

I'm still there, watching those possessed children, as far away from the mystery now as I was then. I've never written, though I thought I wrote, never loved, though I thought I loved, never done anything but wait outside the closed door.

white bat of a snow spirit beating its wings?

A lawyer I once knew told me of a strange case, a suffragette who had never married. After her death, he opened her trunk and discovered 50 wedding gowns.

It was never reveille in this windy world.

This city belongs to ghosts, to murderers, to sleepwalkers. Where are you, in what bed, in what dream?

When I die I'm sure I will have a Big Funeral. Curiosity seekers... coming to see if I am really Dead or just trying to make Trouble.

Anyway, I'm sure the guy lives a million miles away." "Or he could live right in your backyard. You never know." I nodded, keeping a poker face, even though the idea of Sir Leo living in my backyard was extremely appealing.

Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice in Wonderland would say…

Ziceam: s? trec neobservat, ascuns adânc, în haina-mi sur?, mustind de taine, de?elat, centaur beat, în suc de mur?. ?i-a?a de bine m-am mascat, c? haina-mi deveni natur?, ?i cenu?iul mi-a intrat în ochi, în nas, în piept, în gur?.

I'm dark matter. The universe inside of me is full of something, and science can't even shine a light on it. I feel like I'm mostly made of mysteries.

My thing is a Mystery and not just a Mystery, but Bermuda--no sun, only Triangle. Unknowable. Unsolvable.

Fate is never fair. This is why there is such a thing as magic.

Maybe love is just that, and only that. The choice you make. And so, you choose to love. You choose to give it all up, to surrender your scared self and live in this mystery. Jik

I think about curses and pirates. Skeletons guarding booby-trapped hideaways.

Nobody saw Nicky killed.