Quotes About Mystery

Things are always happening to my socks. One's always going off someplace. I don't know why.

We cannot begin to define God's knowledge. We know, simply and profoundly, that nothing is hidden from Him or incomprehensible to Him.

When and how the most painful of situations is going to be resolved and redeemed is no mystery to God. Knowing this truth about God's complete knowledge really does help me accept the unacceptable in my life.

By unnerving definition, anything that the heart has chosen for its own mysterious reasons it can always unchoose later—again, for its own mysterious reasons.

I will tell you why we have these extraordinary minds and souls, Miss Whittaker, he continued, as though he had not heard her. We have them because there is a supreme intelligence in the universe, which wishes for communion with us. This supreme intelligence longs to be known. It calls out to us. It draws us close to its mystery, and grants us these remarkable minds, in order that we try to reach for it. It wants us to find it. It wants union with us, more than anything.

The old cobbler had believed in something he called the signature of all things-namely, that God had hidden clues for humanity's betterment inside the design of every flower, leaf, fruit, and tree on earth. All the natural world was a divine code, Boehme claimed, containing proof of our Creator's love.

What kind of dog is that? I would always give the same answer: She's a brown dog. Similarly, when the question is raised, What kind of God do you believe in? my answer is easy: I believe in a magnificent God.

The mysterious magnet is either there, buried somewhere deep behind the sternum, or it is not.

What life is, we know not. What life does, we know well. —LORD PERCEVAL

The gods are fond of the cryptic and dislike the evident.

I couldn't care less about evidence and proof and assurances. I just want God. I want God inside me. I want God to play in my bloodstream the way sunlight amuses itself on water.

All I know for certain is that this is how I want to spend my life—collaborating to the best of my ability with forces of inspiration that I can neither see, nor prove, nor command, nor understand. It's a strange line of work, admittedly. I cannot think of a better way to pass my days.

British physicist Sir Arthur Eddington's memorable explanation of how the universe works: "Something unknown is doing we don't know what.

Not everything has an answer." Alma found this to be such a staggering piece of intelligence that she was struck dumb by it for several hours. All she could do was sit and ponder the notion in an amazed stupor.

I will tell you why we have these extraordinary minds and souls, Miss Whittaker," he continued, as though he had not heard her. "We have them because there is a supreme intelligence in the universe, which wishes for communion with us. This supreme intelligence longs to be known. It calls out to us. It draws us close to its mystery, and it grants us these remarkable minds, in order that we try to reach for it. It wants us to find it. It wants union with us, more than anything.

NO ONE KNOWS COCO, MY DEAR. SHE WOULD NEVER ALLOW FOR THAT.

Q: What is creativity? A: The relationship between a human being and the mysteries of inspiration.

which wishes for communion with us. This supreme intelligence longs to be known. It calls out to us. It draws us close to its mystery, and it grants us these remarkable minds, in order that we try to reach for it. It wants us to find it. It wants union with us, more than anything." "I know that is what you think," said Alma, patting his hand again, "and I believe it is quite an inventive notion, Mr. Wallace." "Do you think I'm correct?

The old cobbler had believed in something he called "the signature of all things"—namely, that God had hidden clues for humanity's betterment inside the design of every flower, leaf, fruit, and tree on earth. All the natural world was a divine code, Boehme claimed, containing proof of our Creator's love.

Nobody could ever be like that bottomless well of a man—that walking confessional booth who could absorb whatever you told him without judgment or alarm. Nobody else could be that beautiful dark soul, who always seemed to straddle the worlds of life and death. Nobody but Frank was Frank

Which left me with nothing but a dazzled heart and the sense that I live in a most remarkable world, thick with mysteries.

The secret to falling in love so fast, of course, is not to know the person at all.

To my mind, Celia Ray was perfection. She was New York City's very distillation—a glittering composite of sophistication and mystery. I would endure any filth or befouling, just to have access to her.

Exactly because the human heart is such a mystery, love renders all our plans and all our intentions a great big gamble.