Quotes About Mystery

His eyes tight, his head angled in surmise, Karras rose and stared down at the priest, demanding huskily, "Who in the hell are you, pal? Who are you?" The soft

Mom, my bed was shaking.

Y, sin embargo, incluso de esto, del mal, vendrá el bien. De algún modo. De algún modo que nunca podremos entender, ni siquiera ver.

Quis occidit eum?" Who killed him? "Regan.

You been playin' with the Ouija board, Rags, honey?

Yes, perhaps," Perrin answered. "Perhaps. It could all be suggestion. But in story after story that I've heard about séances, Ouija boards—all of that, Chris—they always seem to be pointing to the opening of a door of some sort.

Yes, of course," said Kinderman. "It's very strange. But then it leaves us

the shaven head and the man in white pants and the black woolen

the meantime, I don't know who you are, but you

There is something behind the throne greater than the King himself.

It could be worse, Shawn said... We're all sitting around this fire not knowing which one among us is the person who has been systematically picking us off... Now imagine that while we're sitting here, Reggie's head falls off his body, grows spider legs, and runs away into the darkness. The silence following Shawn's remark was the quietest Gus had ever heard. Even the fire stopped popping and sparking for a moment.

And now there is merely silence, silence, silence, saying all we did not know.

There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophies

The undiscovered country form whose born no traveler returns.

The owl, night's herald.

The weird sisters, hand in hand,Posters of the sea and land,Thus do go about, about:Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,And thrice again, to make up nine.Peace! The charm's wound up.

It is the very error of the moon;She comes more near the earth than she was wont,And makes men mad.

A little touch of Harry in the night.

Then be thou jocund. Ere the bat hath flownHis cloister'd flight, ere, to black Hecate's summonsThe shard-borne beetle with his drowsy humsHath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be doneA deed of dreadful note.

But this rough magicI here abjure.

You would pluck out the heart of my mystery.

Murder most foul, as in the best it is.

The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and wondersAt our quaint spirits.

There is something in the wind.