Quotes About Mystery

It's a special key.' 'How so?' 'It has an L on it. L for love. See? It's the key to the universe, Dad.

And then I see them. In the glow of the flashlight, I see the corses. Stacks of them. Some are shriveled. Some are putrid. Most still have their clothes on. Not one has its head on. "No. No way. No way! This can't be. Fresh dead people? They said the bodies were two hundred years old. This is bad. Really bad. We've got to call someone. Frontline. Nightline. Anderson Cooper.

So. Are you going to tell me where we're going? Sure. Yeah? We're going to the most beautiful place in Paris, he says. Cool, I say. I love that place. He laughs and I decide to stop asking.

You have no idea how the story ends. You're not its author.

There really is magic in this sad, cruel world. A magic stronger than fate, stronger than luck. And one finds it in the most unexpected places" ~Isabelle, Poisoned

The sky had no answer for her.

Nevermore wants me," she whispered aloud. "It wants me to stay." The thought scared her. But what scared her even more was how much she wanted Nevermore.

I don't think my memory of that night is ever coming back." "Do you want me to hit you on the head with a coconut? It works on Gilligan's Island.

Nothing says "I love you" like a dead body

The Evil Twin was either Tracey or Casey Reardon. I wasn't sure which one, and no one else seemed to either. All we knew for sure was that the twins were evil. Or, one of them was evil and the other just looked the same.

At night, the house thick with sleep, she would peer out her bedroom window at the trees and sky and feel the presence of a mystery. Some possibility that included her--separate from her present life and without its limitations. A secret. Riding in the car with her father, she would look out at other cars full of people she'd never seen, any one of whom she might someday meet and love, and would feel the world holding her making its secret plans.

Mysteries that are destroyed by measurement were never truly mysterious; only our ignorance made them seem so.

They sat in silence. Feathers, Phoebe thought, searching in vain for some moment of her own that could rival the beauty and mystery of Faith's act. She felt a disappointment so familiar it was almost a comfort.

He felt the mystery of his own unconscious like a whale looming invisibly beneath a tiny swimmer. If he couldn't search or retrieve or view his own past, then it wasn't really his. It was lost.

A smile is a door that is both open and closed.

By then I'd been watching shadow selves for many years. They'd rescued me from boredom, from sadness. From tables full of rich, awful people. They'd given depth to the shallow, dimensions to the simpleminded. Mystery to the blatant. They were my own secret project. But Z knew about them, too. He was looking for mine. A spy. Like me.

hopscotch, jump rope, charm bracelets, buried treasure, Harriet the Spying, blood sisters, crank calls, pot, coke, quaaludes.

But I don't want to fade away, I want to flame away—I want my death to be an attraction, a spectacle, a mystery. A work of art.

Mysteries that are destroyed by measurement were never truly mysterious; only our ignorance made them seem so. They are like whodunits after you know who did it. Does anyone reread a murder mystery? Whereas the cosmos has been mysterious to humans since long before we knew anything about astronomy or space—and, now that we do, is only more so.

San Francisco is ours, we've signed our name on it a hundred times: SISTERS OF THE MOON.

In the weeks since a mysterious fatigue had confined him to his bed, Gregory and Dennis had perfected the art of conversing between rooms.

Mysteries that are destroyed by measurement were never truly mysterious;

He'd chanced upon his favorite hour: A premonition of dawn without any visible sign of it.

She wore a wedding ring (as did he) and a small gold cross at her neck, but a current of wayward sensuality had been unmistakable in her, making these symbols seem apotropaic.