Quotes About Mystery

yet, have you ever noticed that there are people who do things which are most indelicate, and yet at the same time—beautiful?

The mystery, like so many mysteries, was explained.

Shrines are fascinating, especially when rarely opened.

There was no one even to tell her which, of all the sepulchral slabs that paved the nave and transepts, was the one that was really beautiful, the one that had been most praised by Mr. Ruskin.

Truth is rare fruit in garden of murder.

We may not know the whole story in our lifetime. (On assassination of President John F Kennedy(

bir insan bir insanda ba?ka bir hayat?n kap?s?n? görünce a??k olur. ne mutluluktur öte yandaki, ne de tad?yla merakland?ran bir ac?. a?k diye buna denir: bir insan bir insanda tekinsiz bir ev görür. insan yaras? yaras?na denk geleni seviyor demek ki.

Kiss Me Deadly by Mickey Spillane

Tluin," he whispered, into the gloom around him. "Naed, hrast, and farruking tluin.

Any new corpses today?" "None yet." "Pity. I'm getting so I miss my morning coffee and corpse.

little wrapped package

we heard a muffled boom

And there, on that road, that very minute, he started to play - the most lonesome music that them priests ever in their lives heard. It brought water out o' their teeth, so it did.

The universe is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.

The universe is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper. (A Shadow Passes)

We are often jealous of our little secrets, though to another ear they generally convey neither profit nor entertainment.

B'gwus is famous because of his wide range of homes. In some places, he's called Bigfoot. In other places, he's Yeti, or the Abominable Snowman, or Sasquatch. To most people, he is the equivalent of the Loch Ness monster, something silly to bring the tourist in. His image is even used to sell beer, and he is portrayed as a laid-back kind of guy, lounging on mountaintops in patio chairs, cracking open a frosty one.

As I drove away, I felt deeply comforted knowing that magical things were still living in the world.

Invisible things are the only realities.

Every moment of the night Forever changing places And they put out the star-light With the breath from their pale faces

It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime,Out of Space—out of Time.

The silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain.

The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?