Quotes About Mystery

There's a secret sickness called Lisa. Like all sicknesses, it's miserable and it comes on at night.

No one knew what she was doing in Colonia Hidalgo, although it was most likely, according to the police, that she'd been taking a walk and had come upon death purely by chance.

When they turned, Pelletier and Espinoza saw an older woman in a white blouse and black skirt, a woman with a figure like Marlene Dietrich, as Pelletier would say much later, a woman who despite her years was still as strong willed as ever, a woman who didn't cling to the edge of the abyss but plunged into it with curiosity and elegance. A woman who plunged into the abyss sitting down .

Maybe "warehouses" equals "mothers", a wide margin of error is permissible when you're dealing with super-impositions.

The brief sound is like a color swallowed by a crack. But what color?

Everything that begins as comedy inevitably ends as mystery.

among them the nameless girl, with her guillotine mouth, strolling through the past and the future like a movie face.

That sense of time, ah, the diseased man's sense of time, what treasure hidden in a desert cave.

After that moment, reality for Pelletier and Espinoza seemed to tear like paper scenery, and when it was stripped away it revealed what was behind it: a smoking landscape, as if someone, an angel, maybe, was tending hundreds of barbecue pits for a crowd of invisible beings.

I prefer to not say anything, she wrote, there's no point adding to the pain, or adding our own little mysteries to it. As if the pain itself were not enough of a mystery, as if the pain were not the (mysterious) answer to all mysteries.

He said that some nights he heard the tom-tom beat of his passion, but he didn't know for sure whether it was really the beat of his passion or of his youth slipping through his fingers, maybe, he added, it's just the beat of poetry, the beat that comes to us all without exception at some mysterious hour, easily missed but absolutely free.

Sembrava un corallo. Un corallo?, Dice Belano. Un micruroides euryxanthus, dice la maestra, un serpente velenoso.

Yo creo, y permítaseme este inciso, que la vida está cargada de cosas enigmáticas, pequeños acontecimientos que sólo están esperando el contacto epidérmico, nuestra mirada, para desencadenarse en una serie de hechos causales que luego, vistos a través del prisma del tiempo, no pueden sino producirnos asombro o espanto.

Los floreros disimulan La puerta del Infierno

Jim liked dark women, apparently, history's secret women, he would say, without elaborating. As for me, I liked blondes.

sobre todo si se tiene en cuenta que el futuro es un misterio y que uno nunca sabe a ciencia cierta en qué momento se tuerce el camino y hacia qué extraños lugares lo encaminan sus pasos.

Amalfitano began to weep. His little house, his parched yard, the television set and the video player, the magnificent northern Mexico sunset, struck him as enigmas that carried their own solutions with them, inscribed in chalk on the forehead. It's all so simple and so terrible, he thought. Then he got up from his faded yellow sofa and closed the curtains.

Soñé que en un cementerio olvidado de áfrica encontraba la tumba de un amigo cuyo rostro ya no podía recordar.

a woman who didn't cling to the edge of the abyss but plunged into it with curiosity and elegance.

For the first few miles the highway ran through a little valley dotted with rocks that seemed to have fallen from the sky. Chunks of granite with no origin or context.

His name is Inaki Echevarne, we had a duel. A fight? I said. No, a duel. And who won? I don't know which of us killed the other, said Belano. Fantastic! I said. Yes, he said.

la vida no sólo es vulgar sino también inexplicable

book on Archimboldi, a book that might be the grand Archimboldian opus, the pilot fish that would swim for a long time beside the great black shark of the German's oeuvre, or

If you add infinity to infinity, you get infinity. If you mix the sublime and the creepy, what you end up with is creepy. Right?