Quotes About Mystery

I was a creature of the night, I wasn't supposed to be afraid of the dark. Not that it was the dark I was afraid of--it was the other creatures of the night.

In the end, maybe that was what separated the real paranormal investigators from the charlatans. The charlatans kept up the aura of mystery and obfuscation. The real investigators kept asking why and how.

This was a mystery. A quest. An epic. It was awesome. "Cool," I said, grinning.

Balthasar, his people—they're not what they seem." "Look, instead of a vague warning why can't you just tell me why you don't like them? Give me some information here." "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said. Exasperated, I flung my arms and shouted, "I'm a freaking werewolf! Try me!

The supernatural world was like an onion. You peel back the layers, only to find more layers, on and on, hopelessly trying to reach the mysterious core. Then you start crying.

People felt themselves watching him even before they knew that there was anything different about him. His eyes made a person think that he heard things that no one else had ever heard, that he knew things no one had ever guessed before. He did not seem quite human.

Leonora Penderton feared neither man, beast, nor the devil; God she had never known.

Son, do you know how love should be begun? The boy sat small and listening and still. Slowly he shook his head. The old man leaned closer and whispered: A tree. A rock. A cloud.

I know, but what is it all about? People loose and at the same time caught. Caught and loose. All these people and you don't know what joins them up. There's bound to be some sort of reason and connection. Yet somehow I can't seem to name it. I don't know." "If you did you would be God," said Berenice. "Didn't you know that?

Cuando se casó con el capitán era virgen. Cuatro noches después de su boda seguía siendo virgen, y a la quinta noche su estado cambió apenas lo suficiente para dejarla intrigada. El resto sería difícil de contar.

Death. Sometimes he could almost feel it in the room with him. He rocked to and fro in the chair. What did he understand? Nothing. Where was he headed? Nowhere. What did he want? To know. What? A meaning. Why? A riddle.

Dar amintirea nu-l atac? pe om din fa?? - ea îi d? târcoale.

I am grateful, and would thank the Gods(if there were any to thank) that I have finally mastered this art of forgetting--of murdering the memory.

If there was one thing which Sloan had learned over the years it was that you should never underestimate the element of luck in detective work.

We know hardly anything about anything.

When God saw fit to bestow such a gift, a man with any sense didn't ask questions.

I can't help it, when the moon is out I must come out too...I am not mad.

Quietly, Miss Alice was demonstrating this God of love and beauty too—in small ways and in large. For a few, the concept that life did not have to be all starkness and misery was slowly taking root. Tentatively, timidly—constantly encouraged by Miss Alice—some of the women were at last reaching out for light and beauty and joy.

Everything seemed to be a clue to the hereafter, now that one of her own had gone there.

as though it's the most natural thing in the world for me to come strolling out of the woods at past one in the morning.

A crash sounded from the exhibition room. OrbaLin spun around to face the smashed doors. "And maybe they never left." The archivist flicked out his wrist and a short lightsaber appeared in his waiting hand, delivered from a secret compartment in his suit. For all his quirks, the archivist had class, but would it be enough to keep them both alive?

Well isn't that one thing you're all the more wise for? Age has taught you something. It seems to me that you know the big secret. That nobody knows what's going on

Now let me teach you another thing about my daughter. I love her very much but she has the ability to hide as expertly as a sock in a washing machine. No one knows where it goes, just as no one knows where she goes, but at least when she decides to come back, we're all here, waiting for her.

Silent people hold a magic and a knowledge that less contained people lack; that their not saying something means that more important thoughts are going on inside their head. Perhaps their seeming simplicity belies a hidden mosaic of fanciful thoughts.