Quotes About Mystery

Placed in a puzzling light, and moving, Our days put on such reticence These accents seem their own defense.

just as children imagine a prayer / is merely silence...

If one could conclude as to the nature of the Creator from a study of his creation it would appear that God has a special fondness for stars and beetles.

Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow, For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go? Or are ye angels, bearing home The host unseen Of truant spirits, to be clad Again in green?

The analyst's vulnerability has to be greater even than the vulnerability any other patient has to learn to accept. It is a good thing for an analyst to learn early that every patient suffers from the analytic process, but the vulnerability that the analyst must learn to accept goes beyond the humility that every physician must find toward the mystery of wounding and healing. The

But I am not going to give every detail. Some things lose their fragrance when opened to the air, and there are stirrings of the soul which cannot be put into words without destroying their delicacy.

Unexplained noises are best left unexplained.

Lots of nuns around lately. Suppose there's a convention or something?" – Alaric or Leo.

I learned that spell fifty years ago,' he mumbled as he lit his pipe. 'And I still don't know what it's for.

other clocks all over the house joined in. Lewis sat entranced, listening to high-pitched dings, tinny whangs, melodious electric doorbell sounds, cuckoos from cuckoo clocks, and deep sinister Chinese gongs roaring bwaoww! bwaoww! These and many other clock sounds echoed through the house. Now and then during this concert Lewis looked at Jonathan. Jonathan did not look back. He was staring at the wall,

and so, I went to work on a brazen head that was going to tell me how to encircle England with a wall of brass, to keep out marauding Danes and other riffraff.

full of stories about the old man's exploits. As for the house at 100 High Street, it was

We have no word for this darkness. It is not night and it is not ignorance. From time to time we all cross this darkness, seeing everything: so much everything that we can distinguish nothing. You know it, Marisa, better than I. It's the interior from which everything came.

Remember the Medici tomb with the figures of Night and Day, Dusk and Dawn? Two reclining men and two reclining women. The women modestly fold their legs together. Both men part their legs and, pushing, lift their pelvises, as though waiting for a birth. Not a birth of flesh and blood and not – heaven forbid – of symbols either. The birth they await is of the indescribable and endless mystery which their bodies incarnate

But never did Henry, as he thought he did,end anyone and hacks her body upand hide the pieces, where they may be found.He knows: he went over everyone, & nobody's missing.Often he reckons, in the dawn, them up.Nobody is ever missing.

Look at my daemons, peasant.

Humans have been shouting their question for millennia: Why in God's name won't you show up? They say it when the moment seems to demand a force to do good: If you are God, then do something. But to show up in those moments would be to come in your name, not Mine. My ways are not your ways.

Nobody knows and you can't find out

us measure progress not by what is discovered but rather by the growing list of mysteries that remind us of how little we really know.

It struck me that Albania was the sort of place that might keep a man from yawning.

By God!' he whispered, drawing his breath in sharply, 'it is all pure Rider Haggard and Conan Doyle.

Direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures, which moves us to a renewal of the spirit and an openness to the forces that create and uphold life.

My own suspicion is that the universe is not only stranger than we suppose, but stranger than we can suppose.

What we were after there, in the horn and vellum