Quotes About Mystery

But man dieth, and wasteth away: yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where is he?

Canst thou guide Arcturus with his sons?

Any piece of clothing can be sexy with a quietly passionate woman inside it.

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Fragrance should be discovered, not announced.

The few, the proud, Anonymous!

Somewhere the Sky touches the Earth, and the name of that place is the End.

Mony a one for him maks mane,But nane sall ken where he is gane:O'er his white banes, when they are bare,The wind sall blaw for evermair.

Anonymous: Early Miscellaneous

"Who saw him die?""I," said the fly,"With my little eye,I saw him die."

"Who killed Cock Robin?""I," said the sparrow,"With my bow and arrow,I killed Cock Robin."

La medicina no empezó como un deporte intelectual pensado para ejercitar nuestro ingenio ante un diagnóstico enigmático o un misterio fisiológico, sino que lo hizo como consecuencia de ciertos sentimientos específicos de los pacientes y de los sentimientos que estos despertaban en los primeros médicos;

All art preserves mysteries which aesthetic philosophers tackle in vain.

It was all a matter of a Goddess dark, hidden, deadly, horribly desirable.

All human life is here, but the Holy Ghost seems to be somewhere else.

It is a great mystery that though the human heart longs for Truth, in which alone it finds liberation and delight, the first reaction of human beings to Truth is one of hostility and fear!

There is no explanation you can give that would explain away all the sufferings and evil and torture and destruction and hunger in the world! You'll never explain it. You can try gamely with your formulas, religious and otherwise, but you'll never explain it. Because life is a mystery, which means your thinking mind cannot make sense out of it. For that you've got to wake up and then you'll suddenly

The sea is everything. It covers seven tenths of the globe . . . The sea is only a receptacle for all the prodigious, supernatural things that exist inside it. It is only movement and love; it is the living infinite.

The urge to know scrapes against the inability to know.

Stranger, whoever you are, open this to learn what will amaze you.

Did dreams, he wondered, when they arrived, make a sound? The smallest kind, like the noise of an embryo being conceived, or a snowflake touching down?

Ignorance was, in the end, and in so many ways, a privilege: to find a shell, to feel it, to understand only on some unspeakable level why it bothered to be so lovely. What joy he found in that, what utter mystery.

Where," he asks, "is that book? The one with the birds? In the gold slipcover?

Between whatever has happened already and whatever is to come hovers an invisible borderland, the known on one side and the unknown on the other.