Quotes About Mystery

The Major and Minor Arcana into which the deck is divided are "arks," or containers that, according to the American Heritage Dictionary, "hold the great secret of nature that alchemists sought to find," the concealed knowledge of the self.

Sometimes the people we think we know the best are the ones with secrets we can't even fathom.

It should not be a surprise, even if it is not expected, if a shadow dances among the leaves, a face appears (or seems to), even a community of phantoms from the past. Here you will find answers, questions, and a host of stories.

Why not take a photograph of the fairies? It would stop the teasing once and for all. It would be splendid.

escorted her off the train. "We don't know for sure that he

Ain't you goin to ax me?" Maureen asked. Ruby snatched her head around to face Maureen. "Lamb, you know anything about a commotion out here?" Ruby cooed. "I don't know nothin about no commotion, but I know somethin about that man yall kilt." Virgil

You do not yet understand the God who works in mysterious ways. He decides when it is over.

Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.

Time has effaced all positive knowledge of this aboriginal race;

Jack. "It's a picture of these woods!

Spies? Foreigners? Egyptians? Romans? Persians?

I wish we could go there," he said. The wind started to blow. Jack looked out one last time at the Chinese couple. They seemed to be glowing like stars.

Do you know that old song about Orpheus, how he played his lyre on the mountainside, and found a lion had crouched at his feet to listen? I'm no Orpheus, I know; but sometimes I see the lion's eyes. Where did it go, after the music, what became of it? The story doesn't say.

I left you to make you understand my mystery. Do not believe others will die, not you. It is not for that I'm your friend. By laying myself on the pyre, I became divine. I have wrestled with Thanatos knee to knee, and I know how death is vanquished. Man's immortality is not to live forever, for that wish is born of fear. Each moment free from fear, makes a man immortal.

He was filled with a vast sense of the momentous, of unknown mysteries. He did not know what he should demand of himself, nor did it seem to matter, for he had not chosen this music he moved to, it had chosen him.

If we could push ajar the gates of life, And stand within, and all God's workings see, We could interpret all this doubt and strife, And for each mystery could find a key. But not today. Then be content, poor heart! God's plans, like lilies pure and white, unfold: We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart-- Time will reveal the calyxes of gold.

Death. It doesn't have to be boring.

This is the story of how a middle-aged spinster lost her mind, deserted her domestic gods in the city, took a furnished house for the summer out of town, and found herself involved in one of those mysterious crimes

And when you think about it, poets always want us to be moved by something , until in the end, you begin to suspect a poet is someone who is moved by everything , who just stands in front of the world and weeps and laughs and laughs and weeps (the mysteries, said Aristotle, are the saying of many ridiculous and many serious things).

I have become an orchid washed in on the salt white beach. Memory, what can I make of it now that might please you- this life, already wasted and still strewn with miracles?

Hope wears a strange raincoat and straps a gun inside.

It is sad, is it not, that no one today displays an interest in the art of shrunken heads. Men, women, and children walk on the streets, they cross fields and enter forests, they run along the edges of oceans, but none of them, to the best of my knowledge, are thinking about shrunken heads.

In the Scriptures, God appears as Father, and yet the Holy Spirit chose to reveal God's face to me as Mother." I never dreamt of calling myself holy, never presumed. Yet God, whom I called Mother, chose to grace even one as flawed as I am with the ecstasy of the Holy Spirit moving through me. And so I became the Mother's mouthpiece, a feather on Her breath. How was I to describe such a mystery to Guibert? I never sought the visions, and yet they came.

The world was to me a secret which I desired to devine.