Quotes About Mystery

Peter Pedersen

It's wonderful,' said Bond, deciding to relieve her mind, though irritated with her obvious guilt over this childish mystery. 'You must go in and we'll have breakfast on the terrace. I'm ravenous. I'm sorry I made you jump. I was just startled to see anyone about at this hour of the morning.

Ever heard of "The House of Diamonds"?

He looked up. She was standing a few feet away from him. He noticed that she was wearing a black beret at a rakish angle and that she looked exciting and mysterious like someone you see driving by abroad, alone in an open car, someone unattainable and more desirable than anyone you have ever known. Someone who is on her way to make love to somebody else. Someone who is not for you.

He put down the receiver and looked vaguely at the paper in his hand. It was a rough piece of white wrapping paper. Scrawled in pencil in ragged block letters were the words: HE DISAGREED WITH SOMETHING THAT ATE HIM And underneath in brackets: (P.S. WE HAVE PLENTY MORE JOKES AS GOOD AS THIS)

The man who was only a silhouette. She

Miss Moneypenny would have been desirable but for eyes which were cool and direct and quizzical.

Head of S., thought Bond. They're certainly giving me the red carpet treatment.

MIDNIGHT AMONG THE WORMS

The stars winked down their cryptic morse and he had no key to their cipher.

If you find yourself dead in your bed tonight,' laughed Bond, 'you'll know who did it.

the deep voice held a hint of

me. They found me. The

Engelsen zijn nu eenmaal eigenaardig. Ze lijken op Chinese, in elkaar passende dozen. Het duurt een hele tijd eer je bij de binnenste bent. En als het je eenmaal gelukt is, dan is het resultaat teleurstellend, maar het proces is leerzaam en onderhoudend.

has been stolen by the witchdoctor.

These were everyday sounds magnified by darkness. And darkness was nothing - it was not a substance, it was not a presence, it was no more than an absence of light.

She thought of Robbie at dinner when there had been something manic and glazed in his look. Might he be smoking the reefers she had read about in a magazine, these cigarettes that drove young men of bohemian inclination across the borders of insanity?

No one knew about the squirrel's skull beneath her bed, but no one wanted to know.

Narrative Tension is primarily about witholding information.

A taste for the miniature was one aspect of an orderly spirit. Another was a passion for secrets...

She bent her finger and straightened it. The mystery was in the instant before it moved, the dividing moment between not moving and moving, when her intention took effect. It was like a wave breaking. If she could only find herself at the crest, she thought, she might find the secret of herself, that part of her that was really in charge.

I was pure and good. I loved it that they couldn't understand how profound I was.

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