Quotes About Mystery

Jake,' zei de vrouw... 'Mam...

The space between the next two buildings was crowded with four torn bodies, limbs shredded from torsos, intestines strewn like party streamers. Suddenly one of the torsos jerked into the darkened alley beyond, dragged by something hidden in shadow.

But no death rode this breeze.

A secret sold does not require a buyer's belief. It's a value unto itself.

Oh... It's a thing.

That's the beauty of the universe. There's always a new mystery.

All God's angels come to us disguised.

Most men make the voyage of life as if they carried sealed orders which they were not to open till they were fairly in mid-ocean.

But all God's angels come to us disguised...

And what do we have here? A scary monster, cowboy, and a fairy princess! Here's a hit of ecstasy, run along now.

He glanced at Artison. "They couldn't even kill you if they tried." "What are you talking about? Why not?" "Because," Larria whispered, "You're already dead.

Captain, someone is stealing the Enterprise.

You are a ghost, a figure that stands between light and dark, trapped amid the grey. And I have need of such a man." - Malcador the Sigillite

His smile grew into a feral grin. "Beyond all this… and into the mirror.

The City is of Night; perchance of Death,But certainly of Night.

Boys are beyond the range of anybody's sure understanding, at least when they are between the ages of 18 months and 90 years.

Boys are beyond the range of anyone's sure understanding, at least when they are between the ages of 18 months and 90 years.

She wasn't much to look at but she was something to think about.

Boys are beyond the range of anybody's sure understanding, at least when they are between the ages of 18 months and 90 years.

Twelve years after Robin's death, no one knew any more about how he had ended up hanged from a tree in his own yard that they had known on the day it happened.

to make it seem something more, in short, than my own fatal tendency to try to make interesting people good

the secret visible only to me: blooming in the darkness and never once mentioned by name.

I saw this at about three o'clock in the morning, alone in my apartment, on a black-and-white set with lots of interference. White noise and snow. He seemed to be speaking directly at me, right out of the television set. For a moment I was disoriented, seized by panic; could a ghost embody itself through wavelengths, electronic dots, a picture tube? What are the dead, anyway, but waves and energy? Light shining from a dead star?

Y eso es lo que hacen todos los grandes maestros. Rembrandt. Velázquez. Lo último de Tiziano. Construyen la ilusión, el truco…, pero te acercas un paso más y se desintegra en pinceladas. Abstracto, como de otro mundo. Una clase de belleza totalmente diferente y mucho más profunda. Es y no es.