Quotes About Mystery

Don't ask anything more. There are more secrets in your hair than in a thousand questions.

Haie looked round once again and said wrathfully, satisfied and rather mysteriously: "Revenge is black-pudding.

Femeia-etern? enigm?.

He had spent most of his lifetime studying the art of medicine and realized now that he would never really understand its mysteries. For medicine is an eternal quest for reasons - causes that explain effects. Science cannot comprehend a miracle.

L'Ordre est un royaume poétique, une Voie Lactée zébrant le noir profond du ciel. C'est une pléiade qui n'existe que par ses étoiles.

If I told you, you wouldn't know what I was talking about.

Only Poe could have dreamed the rest.

Of the four men in Preston Prichard's cabin, D-90, only one survived, his friend Arthur Gadsden. Prichard's body was never recovered, yet in the red volume that now contains the beautifully archived replies to Mrs. Prichard's letters there exists a surprisingly vivid sense of him, as though he resided still in the peripheral vision of the world.

Boswell and Thompson write, "Every night the rooms on the two upper floors of the Castle were filled to overflowing. Holmes reluctantly accommodated a few men as paying guests, but catered primarily to women—preferably young and pretty ones of apparent means, whose homes were distant from Chicago and who had no one close to them who might make inquiry if they did not soon return. Many never went home. Many, indeed, never emerged from the castle, having once entered it

Night is the magician of the fair.

I found the actual notes that Prendergast sent to Alfred Trude. I saw how deeply the pencil dug into the paper.

Her gayety seemed like jewels on a skull

A ghostly virga of ice followed it through the night

Murder was a fascination as always.

Oh, Moon, lovely Moon, with thy beautiful face Careering throughout the boundaries of space Whenever I see thee, I think in my mind Shall I ever, oh ever, behold thy behind.

Spade gestured, and his pale wrist caught my eye. His fourth and fifth fingers stood delicately apart from the other three. It was a hand so faultless, so unaware of itself and almost innocent, I felt his mythos transform into pathos. Here was the lost boy himself. I felt my heart squeeze a bit. This is a dangerous dude, I reminded myself.

I remembered this guy. Spade was the sixty-year-old version of the boys I had found irresistible in high school: brilliant, misunderstood, full of shit, and deeply sexy in a way that only I could appreciate. I felt a low gyration start in my hips that I hadn't felt in years.

It was a perfect storm, and Spade was the perfect pirate.

But there was something about Diesel... it started with his name and ended with his butt.

But I figured every girl on the planet had found herself wishing she had a free pass inside a man's mind at one point or another. Maybe it was self-preservation that we didn't have such powers. It might be holy-crap creepy in there.

Pulling his weight back off of her, he nodded over his shoulder. "Show me what's in the bedroom." Though her body leapt in expectation, she tried to play it cool. "Oh, just a dresser, a TV, a dead stuffed deer, and, oh, yeah, a bed." "Forget the deer. Show me how the bed works.

Okay," Drake said, "I'll get my man on the job and have him up there. Anything else?" "That's all for now," Mason said. "Well, wait a minute! This rancher, Overbrook, looks like a big, good-natured, rugged individual, but I'd like to find out something about him.

Angeles in the plain-clothes division

The deuce, it is!" Mason ejaculated.