Quotes About Mystery

Two detectives worked on the crime-scene sketch.

It's . . . it's in the apartment.

Inside I did not find a card. When I turned the envelope upside down, a dead fly fell onto my desk, which caused a chorus of snickering and laughter as Valerie Johnson and her entourage rushed out the door onto the playground.

The dancer, Nicole Hansen, had been found hog-tied in a cheap motel room on Aurora Avenue in North Seattle.

Maybe she did. Maybe she's like Houdini.

Essential to the Catholic mind is what I would characterize as a keen sense of the prolongation of the Incarnation throughout space and time, an extension that is made possible through the mystery of the church.

The twentieth-century theologian Karl Rahner commented that "God" is the last sound we should make before falling silent, and Saint Augustine, long ago, said, "si comprehendis, non est Deus" (if you understand, that isn't God). All of this formal theologizing is but commentary on that elusive and confounding voice from the burning bush: "I am who am.

The twentieth-century philosopher of religion Rudolf Otto famously characterized the transcendent God as the mysterium tremendum et fascinans, the mystery that fascinates us even as it causes us to tremble with fear—

I have come to believe that mankind eternally hovers on the brinks of secret oceans of which it knows nothing.

Damned be the dark ends of the earth where old horrors live again.

The man slumped forward on the table. "Saints and devils!" raged the Wolf. "What does he look like, this Kane?" "Like – Satan –" The voice trailed off in silence. The dead man slid from the table to lie in a red heap upon the floor. "Like Satan!" babbled the other bandit. "I told you! 'Tis the Horned One himself! I tell you –

towers of spider-haunted mystery

These figures are black, yet they are not like negroes. I have never seen their like." "Let

He held out his hand as if to receive something, and the Turanian cried out sharply like a man in mortal agony. He reeled drunkenly, and then, with a splintering of bones, a rending of flesh and muscle and a snapping of mail-links, his breast burst outward with a shower of blood, and through the ghastly aperture something red and dripping shot through the air into the Master's outstretched hand, as a bit of steel leaps to the magnet.

Cimmeria, land of Darkness and deep Night.

Where even ravi (the sun) cannot reach, there will go a kavi (poet)." - Vimalananda

The desert tells a different story every time one ventures on it.

Paradox is the only basket large enough to hold truth:

Jesus not only revealed himself, he hid himself at the same time.

What it leads to is the mischief of confusing liturgy with magic -- of imagining there are only a handful of properly effective formulas for conjuring up the mystery, when in fact the mystery is always at work, independent of any formula whatsoever.

God may work in a Mystery, but luckily for us, he's incapable of keeping a secret.

The paradox of hell, as the most contradiction-filled one of all, will in all likelihood be patient of no exposition but the most contradictory.

The kingdom grows, he says, because the kingdom is already planted. It grows of itself and in its own good time. Above all, it grows we know not how.

the Bible is about the mystery of the kingdom - a mystery that, by definition, is something well hidden and not at all likely to be grasped by plausibility-loving minds.