Quotes About Mystery

Bei den Frauen gibt es nur zwei Möglichkeiten. Entweder sie sind Engel. Oder sie leben noch.

He looked from the phone to the unconscious figure of the Salesman. "What did you do to him?" he asked. "He got the wrong number," Alex said.

As far as I'm concerned, you can't beat a good whodunnit: the twists and turns, the clues and the red herrings and then, finally, the satisfaction of having everything explained to you in a way that makes you kick yourself because you hadn't seen it from the start.

There are many things in life that cannot be explained.

It's strange when you think about it. There are hundreds and hundreds of murders in books and television. It would be hard for narrative fiction to survive without them. And yet there are almost none in real life, unless you happen to live in the wrong area. Why is it that we have such a need for murder mystery? And what is it that attracts us? The crime, or the solution? Do we have some primal need of bloodshed because our own lives are so safe, so comfortable?

The CIA agent looked more dead than alive. Alex wondered if he had been hit, but there was no sign of any blood. Perhaps he was in shock.

They didn't just live with secrets. Secrecy surrounded their entire lives.

In just about every other book I can think of, we're chasing on the heels of our heroes - the spies, the soldiers, the romantics, the adventurers. But we stand shoulder to shoulder with the detective.

I've watched every episode of Poirot and Midsomer Murders on TV. I never guess the ending and I can't wait for the moment when the detective gathers all the suspects in the room and, like a magician conjuring silk scarves out of the air, makes the whole thing make sense.

But the thing is, you see -and to be honest, I don't like to mention this- I'm a bit short. There just aren't enough people getting murdered.

There are few things in the world that we don't know. Science has explained everything away.

I really don't know what to think, Mr Holmes,' Lestrade muttered. 'Well, that's nothing new.

It was quite elementary,' returned the detective with a languid gesture of one hand.

Hawthorne certainly had a magnetic personality. Although, of course, magnets can repel as well as attract.

You look at me as if I were a conjuror,' Holmes remarked, with a laugh.

The few questions I had asked had been futile and I was suddenly dispirited, for it had occurred to me that had Holmes been present, he would have probably have solved the entire mystery by now.

You'd have thought that after twenty years editing murder mysteries I'd have noticed when I found myself in the middle of one.

Inspector Morse, Taggart, Lewis, Foyle's War, Endeavour, A Touch of Frost, Luther, The Inspector Lynley Mysteries, Cracker, Broadchurch and even bloody Maigret and Wallander – British TV would disappear into a dot on the screen without murder.

I hear it still. As I lay down my pen and take to my bed, I am aware of the bow being drawn across the bridge and the music rises into the night sky. It is far away and barely audible - but there it is! A pizzicato. Then a tremelo. The style is unmistakable. It is Sherlock Holmes who is playing. It must be. I hope with all my heart that he is playing for me . . .

a detective must occasionally be guided by his worst imaginings – which is to say that he must put himself in the mind of the criminal.

said. "Who are you? Was my uncle working for you? Did you kill him?" "So many questions," Crawley muttered. "But I'm afraid we're not authorized to give you the answers." The second man lifted his hand and Alex saw that he was holding a gun. He stood up behind the desk, holding the file as if to protect himself. "No…" he began. The man

One car behind him. Two more ahead. The plane was now in

As Leo had said to me, none of us knew what our crime was, but reading the book was certainly a punishment. The

It felt strange. I was about to read one murder mystery while sitting inside another.