Quotes About Mystery

Could she smell my breath? Could she hear my cursed circular heart beat revolving like the crime it is in my deathly chest?

A bathrobe answered the door. Inside it, a woman...

There were thousands of households throughout that city and there was something happening in all of them. There was some kind of story in each, but self-contained. No one else knew. No one else cared.

The moon was sewn into the sky that night

Around six-thirty, Rory was across the street, leaning against a telegraph pole, smiling just for laughs; the world was filthy, and so was he. After a short search, he pulled a long strand of girls' hair from his mouth. Whoever she was, she was out there somewhere, she lay open-legged in Rory's head. A girl we'll never know, or see.

That's the sort of thing I'll never know, or comprehend __ what humans are capable of.

Make no mistake, the woman had a heart. She had a bigger one than people would think. There was a lot in it, stored up, high in miles of hidden shelving. Remember that she was the woman with the instrument strapped to her body in the long, moon-slit night.

She sang a song, but it was so quiet that Liesel could not make it out. The notes were born on her breath, and they died at her lips.

ducking around twisted trees whose fingers are branches spread like cracked ceilings under gray sky.

the moon was sewn into the sky that night. Clouds were stitched around it.

Las intrigas que nos empujan hasta el final son las que me inquietan, me desconciertan, me pican la curiosidad y me asombran. Quedan muchas cosas en las que pensar. Queda mucha historia.

It travelled and wondered, but it disclosed no answers. Not yet.

There were great big shrugs of breath of him...

I don't have much interest in building mystery. Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know what happens and so do you. It's the machinations that wheel us there that aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me.

Crossword?" he would ask.

Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know what happens and so do you. It's the machinations that wheel us there that aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me.

The question is, what color will everything be at the moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?

We can't leave him here, the smell will kill us . . . and we can't carry him out the door and drag him up the street, either. We can't just say, 'You'll never guess what we found in our basement this morning . . .

Chapter One: It was quite fitting that the entire town was sleeping when the dream carrier was born...

era una buena chica. Mantenía la boca cerrada allí donde iba. Llevaba el secreto enterrado muy adentro.

El misterio me aburre, es una lata. [...] Las intrigas que nos empujan hasta el final son las que me inquietan, me desconciertan, me pican la curiosidad y me asombran. Quedan muchas en las que pensar. Queda mucha historia.

el crimen hablaba por sí solo.

That's the sort of thing i'll never know, or comprehend- what humans are capable of

The question is what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?