Quotes About Mystery

That's the one thing we never seem to get, how unpackable everything is.

The owl," he was saying, "is one of the most curious creatures. A bird that stays awake when the rest of the world sleeps. They can see in the dark. I find that so interesting, to be mired in reality when the rest of the world is dreaming. What does he see and what does he know that the rest of the world is missing?

All you have to do is open yourself up to the cosmos as it lays itself before you. See it in all its mysterious dimensions. Without prejudice. Without assumption... All you ever needed was the key to open yourself to it. And that key is the wonder of the world. All the songs you could never remember but couldn't forget? You can find them now.

Capitu, apesar daqueles olhos que o Diabo lhe deu... Você já reparou nos olhos dela? São assim de cigana oblíqua e dissimulada.

As estrelas são ainda menos lindas que os seus olhos, e afinal nem sei mesmo o que elas sejam; Deus, que as pôs tão alto, é porque não poderão ser vistas de perto, sem perder muito da formosura... Mas os seus olhos, não; estão aqui, ao pé de mim, grandes, luminosos, mais luminosos que o céu...

Come on, Pandora, open your belly, and digest me; This thing is amusing, but digest me.

It does not matter; the reconciliation of a family is itself an enigmatic gesture.

Arranjávamos um altar, Capitu e eu. Ela servia de sacristão, e alterávamos o ritual, no sentido de dividirmos a hóstia entre nós; a hóstia era sempre um doce. No tempo em que brincávamos assim, era muito comum ouvir à minha vizinha: Hoje há missa? Eu já sabia o que isto queria dizer, respondia afirmativamente, e ia pedir hóstia por outro nome.

Father Lopes confessed he had never imagined that so many madmen, and such mysterious cases of madness, could exist in the world.

Que mulher será essa, perguntou a si mesmo, tão bela que mete medo, tão fantasiosa que causa lástima? 

I don't understand it any more than you do, but one thing I've learned is that you don't have to understand things for them to be.

It was a dark and stormy night.

As Emmanuel, Cardinal Suhard says, To be a witness does not consist in engaging in propaganda, nor even in stirring people up, but in being a living mystery. It means to live in such a way that one's life would not make sense if God did not exist.

There is in God, some say, a deep but dazzling darkness.

Do you think things always have an explanation? Yes. I believe that they do. But I think that with our human limitations we're not always able to understand the explanations. But you see, Meg, just because we don't understand doesn't mean that the explanation doesn't exist.

Nothing important is completely explicable.

But if I knew everything, there would be no wonder, because what I believe in is far more than I know.

Love can't be pinned down by a definition, and it certainly can't be proved, any more than anything else important in life can be proved.

It does not matter that we cannot fathom this mystery. The only real problem comes when we think that we have.

Carrying my babies was a marvelous mystery, lives growing unseen except by the slow swelling of my belly. Death is an even greater mystery. ... The God I cry out to in anguish or joy can neither be proved nor disapproved. The hope I have that death is not the end of all our questions can neither be proved nor disproved.

There was no light. The darkness was deep and there was no dazzle.

I get glimmers of the bad nineteenth-century teaching which has made Mother remove God from the realm of mystery and beauty and glory, but why do people half my age think that they don't have faith unless their faith is small and comprehensible and like a good old plastic Jesus?

When I get this feeling, this compulsion, I always do what it tells me. I can't explain where it comes from or how I get it, and it doesn't happen very often. But I obey it. And this afternoon I had a feeling that I must come over to the haunted house. That's all I know, kid. I'm not holding anything back. Maybe it's because I'm supposed to meet you. You tell me.

One foggy night I was walking the dogs down the lane and heard the geese, very close overhead, calling, calling, their marvellous strange cry, as they flew by. I think that is what our own best prayer must sound like when we send it up to heaven.