Quotes About Mystery

Understanding dawned in the Witherspoon's eyes. "Of course, of course." He forced himself to laugh. "You are very clever Mrs. Jeffries. You're onto me.

He shall never know how I love him

No sé de que estarán hechas nuestras almas, pero sea de lo que sea, la suya es igual a la mía

No sé de qué estarán hechas nuestras almas; pero, sean de lo que sea, la suya es igual a la mía

No sé de qué están hechas las almas, pero la mía y la suya son una sola

No sé qué composición tendrán nuestras almas, pero sea de lo que sea, la suya es igual a la mía

ocúpate de que me entierren allí en secreto. Y si no lo haces así, ya te demostraré de un modo palpable que los muertos no se disuelven del todo.

No se de que estaran hechas las almas; pero la suya y la mia son iguales

Mama never told me I had a father.

Who of us knows just why we do what we do, much less another's whys, or what we're after? Art is not like that; cut and dried and hit-at like a bull's eye and done for a reason and explained away by this or that motive. It's climbing and striving for something always beyond.

My mother's ghost lived in the courtyard of one of Ashur's undersea castles.

I must go in. The fog is rising.

One need not be a chamber to be haunted.

They say that God is everywhere and yet we always think of him as somewhat of a recluse.

How strange that nature does not knock, and yet does not intrude!

One need not be a Chamber — to be Haunted — One need not be a House — The Brain has Corridors — surpassing Material Place —

Art is a house that tries to be haunted.

A charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld,— The lady dare not lift her veil For fear it be dispelled. But peers beyond her mesh, And wishes, and denies,— Lest interview annul a want That image satisfies.

Witchcraft was hung, in History, But History and I Find all the Witchcraft that we need Around us, every Day -

The only secret people keep is immortality.

We never know we go,—when we are going We jest and shut the door; Fate following behind us bolts it, And we accost no more.

Earth is crammed with Heaven.

Memory is a strange Bell—Jubilee, and Knell.

Could you tell me how to grow--or is it unconveyed--like Melody--or Witchcraft?