Quotes About Mystery

Looking up at scattered, blinking stars can feel like floating above them and looking down. The universe will seem to hang beneath you in its milky glittering mystery.

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.

I'm done. I'm old, I'm sad - that's on a good day. I want out of this mess. 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.

I think, The world is actually huge. That's the part no one can really explain.

th blu nyt th stRs u can't c th hum tht nevr gOs awy

That was the last time I saw Carol. I didn't want to be told I had to be a woman. What I wanted from her was the mystery to a solution.

It's funny how you can know a person, think of him as your closest friend, and still never gain access to the secret chambers in his heart.

There are times when I think it's impossible to know another soul. I don't know, maybe we're lucky that way. If we knew what really went on inside other people's private hearts it would make our eyeballs bleed.

His explanation takes two minutes exactly. The shale lies a mile underground, has lain there since before there was a Pennsylvania, before a single human being walked the earth.

in many cultures, mirrors were believed to be magical objects that granted access to supernatural knowledge.

You know what they say about boys next door...

I'm a jellyfish glowing in the dark sea, bright and brilliant, just waiting to be discovered.

I doubt if he himself leaks even enough to piss more than once a year on his birthday,

We aren't normal. This place isn't normal, and you're not a player, kid. You're the glass ballerina—or the knife.

Traps upon traps. And riddles upon riddles.

Picture yourself standing on a cliff overlooking the ocean. The wind is whipping your hair. The sun is setting. You long, body and soul, for one thing. One person. You hear footsteps behind you. You turn. Who's there? I remembered a voice. Jameson Winchester Hawthorne.

That's the thing, Mystery Girl. I don't think I'm turning anything into a riddle. I don't think I have to. You are a riddle, a puzzle, a game - my grandfather's last.

Luckily for me, I didn't know precisely what it was that I'd done to merit a visit from our pack's leader. There were any number of possibilities, none of which I wanted to openly admit on the off chance that there was something I'd done that he hadn't found out yet.

Two psychics, two werewolves, and a psychic human alpha walk up to a crime scene...

In the past six weeks, I'd been shot at, blown up, kidnapped, and paraded around as the living, breathing embodiment of Cinderella stories. To the world, I was a scandal, a mystery, a curiosity, a fantasy.

So, to summarize," Max said, "the dead uncle? Not dead, might be your father. Hot boys are also tragic, everyone wants a piece of your fine ash, and the woman who tried to have you killed is foxing your father?

I'd promised Grayson secrecy, but this was Hawthorne House. Most of the occupants were far too clever for their own good—or anyone else's.

And that was why I was in these tunnels with Jameson Hawthorne. That was why he'd started looking at me like I was a mystery again, a puzzle that he, and only he, could solve.

there was one thing I'd learned about deceased billionaire Tobias Hawthorne, it was that he was capable of orchestrating nearly anything, manipulating nearly anyone. He'd loved puzzles and riddles and games.