Quotes About Mystery

What a mystery we are to ourselves, even as we go on, learning more, sorting it out a little. The further on we go, the more meaning there is, but the less articulable. You live your life, and the older you get—the more specificity you harvest—the more precious becomes every ounce and spasm.

The eye is always drawn to light, but shadows have more to say.

Elphaba's already come back. I saw her last week on the stairs.

Chovia bastante naquela manhã. A luz tinha um tom acinzentado e musguento devido às nuvens baixas. Teve de admitir que a menina não era um cadáver. Estava viva. Talvez tivesse nascido gelada, mas agora estava viva. Ainda suja com o sangue do nascimento e o início aguado das suas fezes, Liir levou-a até à porta e ergue-a para a chuva. Lavada, revelou-se verde.

We are an experiment in situation ethics set by the unnamed god.

who knows what we want? We're all mysteries, even to ourselves.

Wisdom is not the understanding of mystery, she said to herself, not for the first time. Wisdom is accepting that mystery is beyond understanding. That's what makes it mystery.

Y allí se quedó la vieja y malvada Bruja, durante mucho, muchísimo tiempo. —¿Ha salido alguna vez? —Todavía no.

It's like the old saw: What does a dragon in its shell look like? Well no one can ever tell, for as soon as you break the shell to see, the dragon is no longer in its shell. The real disaster of this inquiry is that it is the nature of evil to be secret.

It is existentially, hyperbolically, quintessentially unknowable.

For who was in thrall to whom, really? And could it ever be known? Each agent working in collusion and antagonism - like the cold and the sun alike creating a deadly spear of ice... Who is in thrall to whom? And while you wait to learn, the deadly icicle, formed by all opposing forces, falls and drives its cold nail into penetrable flesh.

But all life is mystery, and death is a sister ot life, and so also mystery.

She seems to float in a life next to ours, with limited contact.

Wisdom is not the understanding of mystery, she said to herself, not for the first time. Wisdom is accepting that mystery is beyond understanding. That's what makes it mystery

Whimsy is fate, too: just less knowable.

Madame Morrible, for all her upper-class diction and fabulous wardrobe, seemed just a tad—oh—dangerous. As if her big public smile were composed of the light glancing off knives and lances, as if her deep voice masked the rumbling of distant explosions. Galinda always felt as if she couldn't see the whole picture.

Good gracious, dear, all of life is a spell. You know that.

It's true cats have nine lives, you know. But cats can't count. So I don't know where I am.

And yet what now is hidden in shadows below may become more welcome to you in the long run.

86. I get angry when believers unhesitatingly attribute every good thing in the world to God — and then respond to bad things by saying, "God works in mysterious ways." If God's ways are so mysterious, and we can't begin to understand his thinking behind tsunamis and drought and pediatric cancer, then what makes you think you understand his intentions when it comes to pretty sunsets or cute puppies or helping you find the peanut butter?

In many ways, the happiness of having children falls into the kind of happiness that could be called fog happiness. Fog is elusive. Fog surrounds you and transforms the atmosphere, but when you try to examine it, it vanishes. Fog happiness is the kind of happiness you get from activities that, closely examined, don't really seem to bring much happiness at all—yet somehow they do.

Graham Greene, Beryl Bainbridge, Barbara Vine, Seamus Heaney, some Dan Turner — Hollywood Detective, and Shakespeare's sonnets.

People quickly grow accustomed to being the slaves of mystery.

She was the amoureuse of all the novels, the heroine of all the plays, the vague "she" of all the poetry books.