Quotes About Mystery

Let's investigate the dark cave without that pesky SecUnit" group.

Nicholas, dressed in black and trailing them like a sinister storm cloud, had a dry little preoccupied smile.

No, I didn't kill the dead human. If I had, I wouldn't dump the body in the station mall, for fuck's sake.)

Bodies can show up anywhere.

Do you believe a place can have its own distinct rhythm? I do. Just as surely as the pulling of tides. Just as meaningful as a beating heart. And just as mysterious as the throaty purr of a well-stroked cat. I believe every place has its own unique rhythm. And I believe we are either in or out of sync with it.

was magnificent. Her long, black hair hung down to her waist and her soft golden skirt caught on the grass as she walked, released and then caught again. She wore a purple tunic with a woven leather belt and a medallion that hung low on one hip. On her shoulder, she carried a

We all have names we don't know about.

We all have names we don't know about.

God can be addressed, but not expressed.

What, then, does one experience of the You? -- Nothing at all. For one does not experience it. -- What, then, does one know of the You? -- Only everything. For one no longer knows particulars.

The third (sphere in which the world of relation arises): Life with spiritual beings. Here the relations is wrapped in a cloud but reveals itself, it lacks but creates language. We hear no You and yet addressed; we answer - creating, thinking, acting: with our being we speak the basic word, unable to say You with our mouth. Bt how can we incorporate into the world of the basic word that lies outside language?

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.

The world is not comprehensible, but it is embraceable: through the embracing of one of its beings.

Well, love was no fading violet; love was a weed that flourished in the dark. Has anyone ever explained it?

Mystery books. I must read a hundred a year. . . I just wish some of them were harder to figure out.

The game-playing aspects of detective fiction came into prominence only after the First World War, as a symptom of people's reaction to carnage and bereavement; there was a hunger for escapism, and readers relished having the chance to solve a puzzle set in a detective story.

On a cold night, it's tempting to curl up by the fireside with a good mystery—and rather more pleasurable than indulging in endless online shopping.

The very first detective fiction, written by Edgar Allan Poe, may have been set in Paris, but the book usually described as the first detective novel was Charles Warren Adams's The Notting Hill Mystery, republished recently by the British Library.

Fantastique, 'Dream of a Witches' Sabbat'. "Though

You only saw the side of people that they wanted you to show, learnt the details of their lives they were willing to reveal. Everyone kept secrets. - Pg. 222

Done to death by books? There were worse ways to go, even if you weren't a bibliophile.

It didn't make any sense If someone was out to kill David, why drug him first? The killer could have just shot him and have done with it.  Why take the time to drug him?  Nothing made much sense at the moment.  He wondered if it ever would. Looking at all the reports and interviews, Draker was puzzled: a murder case, the victim was drugged then shot and it was made to look like he had committed suicide but why?

The Agency By Pamela Griffiths

I agree, there is something underlying, something we are not aware of'. 'We will just have to keep on probing and looking until we have a full picture of what happened before David died,'  Jackie told her.