Quotes About Mystery

Maybe all of the mysteries of particle theory can be solved by invoking the same mantra: if the universe were any other way, we could not live in it.

He looked up at the dark line of trees and breathed in slowly, smelling wild garlic, mulched leaves, a fox den somewhere and a sweeter scent. Fruit blossom, he thought. Then that small mystery was eclipsed by a larger one. A stranger scent hid among the blossom, sweet and resinous at once. Lilies, John thought, drawing the scent deeper. Lilies mixed with pitch.

Is it foolish to believe in God when we can't solve all the mysteries that exist in our universe? Not at all! In fact, the more we learn about our universe and the more mysteries we uncover, the more we realize that it is foolish not to believe in God.

Despite many things we can't explain, a study of our world convinces us that the universe, our planet, and life itself, really could not "just happen." In the beginning, there was God!

keep a person on the Scientology path," Hubbard once told one of his associates, "feed him a mystery sandwich.

Maybe it was Roumiya's beauty that drove me away, her silent beauty, her eyes that seemed to be looking through everythig and draining it of all meaning.

Sûrement la Seine était rouge ce jour-là, de nuit on voyait pas

The world has forgotten that there is more pleasure in wondering than knowing.

Attacking me was like pushing open a forbidden door. What waited on the other side was his problem.

Reacher said nothing.

Life," Joe said. "What a completely weird thing it is. A person lives sixty years, does all kinds of things, knows all kinds of things, feels all kinds of things, and then it's over. Like it never happened at all." "We'll always remember her." "No, we'll remember parts of her. The parts she chose to share. The tip of the iceberg. The rest, only she knew about. Therefore the rest already doesn't exist. As of now.

Neagley hated physical contact. No one knew why. But it was a recognized issue.

Reacher said, What have we missed ? Ratcliffe said, A piece of the puzzle. What do you know about computers ? I saw one once.

Reacher remembered a line from an old song: Set the controls for the heart of the sun.

Reacher hadn't seen the guy before. Big hands, broad shoulders, a seamed face, clothes all covered with dirt. Chosen in some way, presumably, to be the point man. To be the spokesperson. The pick of the local litter, no doubt, according to popular acclaim.

We drove under a giant gray wing and headed out over open blacktop straight for a small white airplane standing alone. A corporate thing. A business jet. A Lear, or a Gulfstream, or whatever rich people buy these days. The paint winked in the sun. There was no writing on it, apart from a tail number. No name, no logo. Just white paint. Its engines were turning slowly, and its stairs were down.

got up and disappeared in the dark, there one minute, gone the next, like on the apartment balcony in Paris. Nice and I squatted side by side, with our backs against the wall. I said, "This is the scene where I try to get rid of you." She didn't answer.

The plane turned onto the runway, amid noisy billows of dry brown air, and it accelerated slowly, complacently, as if fully aware the mysteries of flight had been worked out long ago, and it lifted off calmly, and glinted in the sun, and sideslipped in the haze, and curved upward on trails of soot, setting a dark but graceful course north and east.

She has a caller ID system," Reacher said. "With coordinates. She's probably watching this house right now, on Google Earth." "But it's dark." "Don't ask me how it works." He

he could hear faint sounds from their

There was nothing else in Carbone's six-by-eight cell. Nothing significant, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing explanatory. Nothing that revealed his history, his nature, his passions, or his interests. He had lived his life in secret, buttoned down, like his Saturday-night shirts.

A kidnapping in Boston. A cop dies. Has Reacher lost

there with the unfamiliar insignia of their rank.

The Darkling Halls of Ivy, I