Quotes About Mystery

Generally speaking, it's difficult not to be at least mildly terrified of a girl who might, at any moment, take her shirt off. But

It is always in the parts that we cannot fully understand - the holes in a story, the piece missing - where the real truth of the thing lurks...

Nobody knew what they were supposed to believe or what neighbors and relatives believed. Ghosts suddenly became as legitimate an option as anyone's god.

E. C. FERGINS

He began to understand why some people feared the dark so much. The sheer helplessness of not knowing what was right in front of you was terrifying.

The sounds of silence are a dim recollection now, like mystery, privacy and paying attention to one thing — or one person — at a time.

10/30/38 Where do you look for someone who's never really there? Always on a staircase but never on a stair

The locker at the end of her bed had no lock, and one of the hinges was busted. She opened it up. There was a thing in it. The thing might have been a sandwich at some point, or an animal, or a human hand...but what it was now was fuzzy and putrid. A minute later, Ginny was down the stairs, out the door, and gone.

I could envision it all to clearly: Stuart or Debbie finding the dented door off its hinges, lying in the snow. She came in, ravaged the boy, stole plastic bags, and ripped off the door in her escape, the police would say in the APB. Probably making her way to bust her parents out of jail.

It was as if the news itself wanted to reassure me. Even Jack the Ripper himself had reappeared as part of the greeting committee.

There are reasons for everything, even if we don't know them, Stevie said. Motive. Okay, Nate said. My motive is that I prefer dragons. To what? To the absence of dragons.

The critical scene of the mystery is when the detective enters. The action shifts to Sherlock's sitting room. The little Belgian man with the waxed moustache appears in the lobby of the grand hotel. The gentle old woman with a bag of knitting comes to visit her niece when the poison pen letters start going around the village. The private detective comes back to the office after a night of drinking and finds the woman with the cigarette and the veiled hat this is when things will change.

For anyone who has ever dreamed of finding a body in the library. - Dedication of Truly Devious

I dumped out the bag and found what had been inside was a bunched-up police uniform, complete with the vest. Where did you get this? Boo asked. It's Callum's, he said. What's he wearing? At the moment, not much of anything. Put it on. I noticed Book perk up a bit at this piece of information.

Fun fact, Stevie said, trying to lighten the mood in the vast, gloomy space. This fireplace? Henry the Eighth had one just like it, in Hampton Court. Albert Ellingham had an exact copy made. Fun fact, Nate replied, Henry the Eighth killed two of his wives. Who wants a murderer's fireplace? I'm not sure, but that's the name of my new game show.

Did you hear? he asked. They found another body around nine this morning. It's the Ripper, definitely. Good morning, I replied. Morning. Listen to this. The second victim...

What tinfoil? he asked.

Where do you look for someone who's never really there? Always on a staircase but never on a stair.

No one hid their interest when I walked into the room. I'm not sure if it was the news about Boo or my general appearance. At home, people would have asked. People would have been crawling all over me for information. At Wexford, they seemed to extract what they wanted to know by covert staring.

You've never told me about your love life, Scarlett. You're a very pretty girl. You must have a boy shacked up somewhere for your personal delights. I'd bet it's a booky one, overtones of Harry Potter and a lot of black T-shirts.

That's what she gets, if she gets anything at all, Stevie said. All of this starts in late May and goes on through June. What dose this suggest? Morning sickness, Nate said, his eyes widening. Morning sickness, Stevie replied, smiling. You terrify me, Nate said quietly.

That particular April day was strange and foggy, blurring spaces between the trees and blanketing all of Ellingham in a milky mist. Dottie decided that the weather lent itself to a mystery. Sherlock Holmes would be perfect.

I've got a murder mansion, a house full of suspects, a pile of evidence, and nothing.

It was a deathtrap, a meandering thread of madness. It suggested that there was something about English people that she may never understand.