Quotes About Mystery

How many things are there in the world in which the wisest of us can ill descry the hand of God! Who not knowing could read the lily in its bulb, the great oak in the pebble-like acorn? God's beginnings do not look like his endings, but they are like; the oak is in the acorn, though we cannot see it.

if I am not unfrequently sad, I yet cast no more of a shade on the earth, than most men who have lived in it as long as I. I have a strange feeling sometimes, that I am a ghost, sent into the world to minister to my fellow men, or, rather, to repair the wrongs I have already done. May the world be brighter for me, at least in those portions of it, where my darkness falls not.

And if we believe that God is everywhere, why should we not think Him present even in the coincidences that sometimes seem so strange? For, if He be in the things that coincide, He must be in the coincidence of those things.

heaven is high and deep, and its lower air is music; in the upper regions the music may pass, who knows, merging unlost, into something endlessly better!

the highest condition of the Human Will, as distinct, not as separated from God, is when, not seeing God, not seeming to itself to grasp Him at all, it yet holds Him fast.

Verily the God that knows how not to reveal himself, must also know how best to reveal himself! If there be a calling child, there must be an answering Father!

A shudder ran through her from head to foot when she found that the thread was actually taking her into the hole out of which the stream ran.

She did not hesitate. Right into the hole she went, which was high enough to let her walk without stooping. For a little way there was a brown glimmer, but at the first turn it all but ceased, and before she had gone many paces she was in total darkness.

You would not even know you were in heaven if you were in it; you would not see it around you if you sat on the very footstool of the throne.

Who invented music? Some one must have made the delight of it possible! With his own share in its joy he had had nothing to do! Was Chance its grand inventor, its great ingenieur? Why or how should Chance love loveliness that was not, and make it be, that others might love it? Could it be a deaf God, or a being that did not care and would not listen, that invented music? No; music did not come of itself, neither could the source of it be devoid of music!

What is the matter with your master? George asked Dawtie as they bounced along toward Potlurg. God knows, sir. What is the use of telling me that? I want you to tell me what YOU know. I don't know anything, sir.

Mrs Oldcastle was silent—why, I could not tell

And as to death, the fact is we know next to nothing about it. "Do we not!" say the faithless indignantly. "Do we not know the misery of it, the tears, and the sinking of the heart and the desolation!" Yes; you know those; but those are your things, not those of death. About death you know nothing. God has never told us anything about it but that the dead are alive to him, and that one day, they will be again to us.

What is time, but the airy ocean in which ghosts come and go!

it is no use trying to account for things in Fairy Land; and one who travels there soon learns to forget the very idea of doing so, and takes everything as it comes; like a child, who, being in a chronic condition of wonder, is surprised at nothing.

VISITORS FROM THE HALL.

Human science cannot discover God; for human science is but the backward undoing of the tepestry-web of God's science.

Human science cannot discover God; for human science is but the backward undoing of the tapestry-web of God's science.

At night all cats are grey.

It is a mysterious thing, the loss of faith—as mysterious as faith itself.

They could lay bare in the utmost detail everything that you had done or said or thought; but the inner heart, whose workings were mysterious even to yourself, remained impregnable.

The moon is beautiful partly because we cannot reach it, (the sea is impressive because one can never be sure of crossing it safely. Even the pleasure one takes in a flower — and this is true even of a botanist who knows all there is to be known about the flower is dependent partly on the sense of mystery.

Eles não podem alterar os sentimentos... aliás, nem nós próprios poderíamos alterá-los, mesmo que quiséssemos. Podiam pôr a nu, com todo o pormenor, quanto houvéramos feito, dito ou pensado; mas o mais fundo do coração, cujo funcionamento até para nós constitui um mistério, há-de ser sempre inexpugnável.

But the inner heart, whose workings were mysterious even to yourself, remained impregnable.