Quotes About Mystery

Her eyes were round and extremely large. Her lips were perfectly rouged, and there came a perfume from her that was no doubt made by a Persian magician to drive us out of our wits.

Yancey crawled from her tangled bed one morning and assembled her long limbs and sharp bones into something as exotic and seductive to the eye as a peacock or a griffin or a unicorn.

And yet still she watched him... he wondered why. One possibility, and by far his favorite, was that she was planning his murder.

The windows were boarded up, allowing in no light. I take it this isn't your apartment. You think I'd take you to my home? Hope springs eternal.

At least it was dark. His eyes drifted down over her body, the ripe curves in the moonlight, and a dreamy expression crossed his face, just before he leaned forward and put his mouth against the side of her neck, tasting her hammering pulse.

He'd come to London to find a wife and to have sex, and so far he'd failed at the first and not done terribly well at the second. No one seemed to interest him. Except for the enigma that was Charity Carstairs.

Is Jensen really your name? she asked when he sat down again, closing the knife and tucking it back into his pocket. Does it matter? I've used any number of names. Jensen, Davidson, Wilson, Madsen. In other words your mother didn't know who your father was.

What was it about her that caught at his soul, when he no longer had one?

dying, you don't get to see how it all turns out. Questions you have asked will go unanswered forever. Will this one of my children settle down? Will that one learn to be happier? Will I ever discover what was meant by such-and-such?

The trouble with dying is you don't get to see how everything turns out. You don't know the ending.

The trouble with dying is that you don't get to see how everything turns out. You won't know the ending.

Why! he always thought to himself. What was that little redhead doing by the side of

a car that wasn't familiar to her.

I don't suppose you know the password

He must have been thinking about this ahead of time. He must have consciously decided he wanted her, and imagined how it would be. The knowledge made her feel mysterious and desirable and grown-up.

We wake, if we ever wake at all, to mystery, rumors of death, beauty, violence...

It's about waking up. A child wakes up over and over again, and notices that she's living. She dreams along, loving the exuberant life of the senses, in love with beauty and power, oblivious to herself -- and then suddenly, bingo, she wakes up and feels herself alive. She notices her own awareness. And she notices that she is set down here, mysteriously, in a going world.

Theirs is the mystery of continuous creation and all that providence implies: the uncertainty of vision, the horror of the fixed, the dissolution of the present, the intricacy of beauty, the pressure of fecundity, the elusiveness of the free, and the flawed nature of perfection.

The creatures I seek do not want to be seen.

There is something you find interesting, for a reason hard to explain. It is hard to explain because you have never read it on any page; there you begin.

The sea pronounces something, over and over, in a hoarse whisper; I cannot quite make it out.

What is the difference between a cathedral and a physics lab? Are not they both saying: Hello? We spy on whales and on interstellar radio objects; we starve ourselves and pray till we're blue.

One turns at last even from glory itself with a sigh of relief. From the depths of mystery, and even from the heights of splendor, we bounce back and hurry for the latitudes of home.

This hospital, like every other, is a hole in the universe through which holiness issues in blasts. It blows both ways, in and out of time.