Quotes about mystery

there are three kinds of people in the world: those who don't know and don't know they don't know those who don't know and do know they don't know and those who know and know how much they still don't know.

Daniel supposed he had a secret life. Most people did it was hardly possible to live without one.

In feature films the director is God in documentary films God is the director.

What I have written is but a fleeting intimation of the outside of what one man sees and may tell about the path he walks. No one shares the secret of a life no one enters into the heart of the mystery.

I had passed I had become the thing that had happened to me.

2 Corinthians 11:14 And no marvel for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.

You’re a real cowboy.”He laughed. “You’re just now realizing that?

Whoever had said that appearances were deceiving was only partially right they could also be deadly.

Scent of old books a mystery a secret port of the dreamers.

If you don't like your teeth keep your mouth shut.

You don't need to be smarter you just need dumber friends.

Solberg nature's greatest argument against cloning.

This is what Kirkus Reviews has to say about CW McCoy and PEAK SEASON: “CW is a great character. Widmer has a great sense of place he easily brings the town of Spanish Point and its colorful cast of characters to life. An entertaining mystery romp.

He was a match she was flint. And between them both...fire.

Someone was going to die of that he was perfectly sure.The only question was who.

I am incognito running away from scenes of the tested truths that I have so meticulously exacted before I am found guilty of the very things I have written.

They had just digested a recent meal of prepositions and were happily farting out apostrophes and ampersands the air was heav'y with th'em&.

Not every secret must be solved some must be left as a mystery because we cannot bear a universe without mysteries!

Childhood has its secrets and its mysteries but who can tell or who can explain them!

And so back to Cassie: who was she? Part of the deception just a friend or something else…perhaps it was time to find out.

I am a die-hard romantic at heart and love the idea of love. But, when it comes to love, I kinda believe in the old world charm of romance - where there's mystery and intrigue.

I've seen plays that are, objectively, total messes that move me in ways that their tidier brethren do not. That's the romantic mystery of great theater. Translating this ineffability into printable prose is a challenge that can never be fully met.

Romantic fiction, in the broader sense, can be any novel that has a love story somewhere in it. It can be a mystery or a historical novel, as long as it has this very strong romantic thread running through it.

Acting is a sense of wonder and magic and mystery for me and when life takes me on a new journey, I simply remember the smile my first ballet recital put on my face and I move forward.

There is something about poetry beyond prose logic, there is mystery in it, not to be explained but admired.

It has always been a mystery to me how men can feel themselves honoured by the humiliation of their fellow beings.

Elegance is a glowing inner peace. Grace is an ability to give as well as to receive and be thankful. Mystery is a hidden laugh always ready to surface! Glamour only radiates if there is a sublime courage & bravery within: glamour is like the moon it only shines because the sun is there.

The legal system is often a mystery, and we, its priests, preside over rituals baffling to everyday citizens.

The criminal is the creative artist the detective only the critic.

We men are fascinated by the things we don't really understand. It gives us something to think and talk about: like females, they drive us nuts.

However close you get to others, you can never get inside them, even when you're inside them.

An artwork could always be restored and sold with no depreciated value―the cracks and tears provide more character, But when it comes to human emotions, how far could you stretch your heart to let go of the pain?

He tugged my zipper down like he was unveiling a gift, spreading my pants open. “Yeah. There it is. You have a nice fat dick. I would have never guessed it."“I’m Italian,” I said inanely.

The northern star changes its position every ten thousand years, but friendships can last for all eternity.— RJPeters

I should have been bolder and kissed her at the end. I should have been more cautious. I had talked too much. I had said too little.

When it's sunny, why not spend some time dressing up and go out to have a walk!

Hank Knight asked questions about Jesse Rose and an item that was taken from her crib the night she was kidnapped. His questions led our lawyer to believe Hank had knowledge about the crime and possibly where Jesse Rose is now. I think he got too close to the truth. Too close to the kidnapper's accomplice. And if I'm right then you can help me prove it.

He noticed her eyes were a rich, warm brown, the same color as his favorite horse."Yes?"He realized he'd been staring. At least he had the sense not to voice his thoughts. He doubted she would appreciate her eye color being compared to that of his horse's hide even if it was his favorite.

Her gaze locked with his and she felt her heart quicken. Slowly, he bent his head until his lips were only a breath away from her own. She couldn't breathe. Didn't dare. She thought she would die if he didn't kiss her.

His lips brushed over hers. She let out a sigh of relief and joy and pleasure. He pulled her tighter against him, taking her mouth with his own. She melted into him and the kiss, heart pounding, desire sparking along her nerve endings like a string of lit dynamite.

If you call a gypsy a vagabond, I think you do him wrong,For he never goes a-travelling but he takes his home along.And the only reason a road is good, as every wanderer knows,Is just because of the homes, the homes, the homes to which it goes.

I can't believe I have you here with me," she whispered and turned her face into his throat, nuzzling him. Inhaling. Tasting his skin with her tongue. "My life was pain and terror. You took away his voice. You gave me hope that my daughter would survive and others wouldn't shun her. I was terrified and alone, and you changed all that. You brought beauty and hope back into my life. Thank you for that, Dragomire. I swear I will spend every minute making you happy."Emeline to Dragomire, Dark Legacy

Know this, sivamet-this child will be mine. I will take Vadim's blood from you and exchange it for mine. Eventually, over time, she will be ours. My child and yours. My blood will change her cells. her organs, reshaping and repairing any damage. 'The healer-"- Dragomir to Emeline

He saw trust. Complete trust. It was a gift, a precious one, and it humbled him. I've got you, Emeline. I will always be with you.Dragomire to Emeline, Dark Legacy, Dark #27

The blood dried on his good hand, he passed his palm over her hair. It curled about his wrist and sprung back into displace as the breeze fluttered by. In the firelight, it was golden like the dandelions of which she’d spoken. The ones that had grown along the Franklin riverbank in late summer. The ones he had lost any faith in since he’d committed his first murder there.

Gay sex, one. Straight sex, zero

Rene Caron takes my breath away!

Several Terminal Policy readers got together to tell Raker jokes: - Raker CAN piss into the wind. - Raker donates a lot of blood to the Red Cross -- just never his own. - Superman wears Raker pajamas. - When Raker jumps into the pool, he doesn't get wet -- the pool gets Raker. - Why did the chicken cross the road? Because Raker THREW her there!! - Raker's daughter lost her virginity ... he got it back. - Raker doesn't cheat death, he wins fair and square. - Raker turns on a light at night …

My ex calls the ochre winter 'autumn' as we queue to hear dock boys play jazz fugues in velvet dark.— Broken Verses

The reader is the final arbiter.

Death and what came after death was no great mystery to Sabriel. She just wished it was.

How does one kill fear, I wonder? How do you shoot a spectre through the heart, slash off its spectral head, take it by its spectral throat?

The corpse opened his eyes.

I'd rather strive for the kind of interview where instead of me asking to introduce myself to society, society asks me to introduce myself to society.

It'll be a change," says Marcus. "Something different.""Not a mystery."Marcus laughs. "No. Not a mystery. Just a nice safe history."Ah, my darling. But there is no such thing.

Your boss takes a dim view of SEX?

The mysterious does not spell itself out in capital letters, as many writers believe, but is always between, an interstice.

When all the details fit in perfectly, something is probably wrong with the story.

Actors are all about entrances, but writers are all about exits.

That's what I love most about writers--they're such lousy actors.

There is an old story from the Eastern tradition that says that when the gods created the universe, they found a place for everything but the truth, and this created a problem, because the gods did not want this wisdom discovered right away. One of the gods suggested the top of the highest mountain, another the farthest star, a third spoke up for the dark side of the moon, and another for the bottom of the deepest ocean. Finally, they decide to place truth inside the human heart. In that way, we

I've come back for you, my love, my life. Let me look at you, keep you, never let go of you.

Like herbs in a pestle, life steadily ground out the essence of those who did not have access to comforts.

You alone in Europe are not ancient oh ChristianityThe most modern European is you Pope Pius XAnd you whom the windows observe shame keeps youFrom entering a church and confessing this morningYou read the prospectuses the catalogues the billboards that sing aloudThat's the poetry this morning and for the prose there are the newspapersThere are the 25 centime serials full of murder mysteriesPortraits of great men and a thousand different headlines("Zone")

No, I would not want to live in a world without dragons, as I would not want to live in a world without magic, for that is a world without mystery, and that is a world without faith.

In your handsThe dog, the donkey, surely they know They are alive.Who would argue otherwise?But now, after years of consideration, I am getting beyond that.What about the sunflowers? What about The tulips, and the pines?Listen, all you have to do is start and There’ll be no stopping.What about mountains? What about water Slipping over rocks?And speaking of stones, what about The little ones you can Hold in your hands, their heartbeats So secret, so hidden it may take yearsBefore, finally, you he

She walks,on the streets,with a face that,doesn't belong.It smiles more than,many put together,whole day long.Her heart misfit,a little chipped.And she likes to,call it once broken,but now stitched.

Facts are relative to the knowledge man possesses at the present time. Truth however, is absolute and transcends the present, past, and future times. The relationship between Truth and Facts is that facts are not always the Truth, but Truth is always a Fact.

Oh, sometimes I like to put the sand of doubt into the oyster of my faith." (Br. Cadfael)

Faith and love are apt to be spasmodic in the best minds. Men live the brink of mysteries and harmonies into which they never enter, and with their hands on the door-latch they die outside.

As Emmanuel, Cardinal Suhard says, "To be a witness does not consist in engaging in propaganda, nor even in stirring people up, but in being a living mystery. It means to live in such a way that one's life would not make sense if God did not exist.

So I find words I never thought to speakIn streets I never thought I should revisitWhen I left my body on a distant shore.

Let me keep my distance, always, from those who think they have the answers.Let me keep company always with those who say "Look!" and laugh in astonishment, and bow their heads.

My silence knot is tied up in my hair; as if to keep my love out of my eyes. I cannot speak to one for whom i care. A hatpin serves as part of my disguise. In the play, my role is baticeer; a word which here means "person who trains bats." The audience may feel a prick of fear, as if sharp pins are hidden in thier hats. My co-star lives on what we call a brae. His solitude might not be just an act. A piece of mail fails to arrive one day. This poignant melodrama's based on fact.The curtain falls

Here is a story that’s stranger than strange. Before we begin you may want to arrange:a blanket, a cushion, a comfortable seat,and maybe some cocoa and something to eat.I’ll warn you, of course, before we commence, my story is eerie and full of suspense, brimming with danger and narrow escapes, and creatures of many remarkable shapes.Dragons and ogres and gorgons and more, and creatures you’ve not even heard of before. And faraway places? There’s plenty of those! (And menacing villains to tingle

After earning a degree in Marketing at Auburn University, I spent the next five years in the business world, which is a polite way of saying that I had eleven jobs in a five-year period, including door to door sales, skip tracing people who didn’t want to be found, repossessing cars and collecting on defaulted student loans. During this five-year period, I did an in-depth study of abnormal psychology and sociopathic behavior – and then I divorced him.

It was this mystery, bereft now of all fear, and this beauty together that made life the endless, changing and yet changeless, thing it was. And yet mystery and loveliness alike were really only appreciable with one's legs, as it were, dangling down over into the grave.

Isn’t that wonderful? That feeling of not knowing too much about something… Incomplete information… Endless possibilities… When you don’t know much about something, it’s the most exciting sensation.-Kutsnetz in TALUS

The wonders of the holy wonder is timeless mystery.

I painlessly came to realize that the reverence I felt for the holiness of life is not ever likely to be entirely at home in organized religion. It was later, when I was able to travel farther , that the presence of holiness and mystery seemed, as far as my vision was able to see, to descend into the windows of Chartres, the stone peasant figures of Autun, the tall sheets of gold on the walls of Torcello that reflected the light of the sea; in the frescoes of Piero, of Giotto; in the shell of a

The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery. There is always more mystery.

I stared at the little white agates in my hand, delicate as moon drops. The mystery of God's love as I understand it is that God loves the man who was being mean to his dog just as much as he loves babies; God loves Susan Smith, who drowned her two sons, as much as he loves Desmond Tutu. And he loved her just as much when she was releasing the handbrake of her car that sent her boys into the river as he did when she first nursed them. So of course, he loves old ordinary me, even or especially at

We should never, ever believe life - or history holds no surprises for us. That was lies arrogance. And arrogance can blind us to the truth.""Which truth?""Any truth. All truth." her voice was solemn

When I encountered these haunting words from Franz Kafka, I realized exactly why this light sermon about the search for God had struck such a nerve: "Everyday life is the greatest detective story ever written. Every second, without noticing, we pass by thousands of corpses and crimes. That's the routine of our lives.

He wrote: "A religion to be true must include everything from the amoeba to the milky way." Nothing must be excluded from our view and purview for any faith to be true.

When you perceive through your senses, the object may be, of the outside world, but you see the object, inside of you, in your awareness field.

Foreign to knowledge, mystery to senses, alien to emotion: LOVE.

Telling you how I know…what I know…it could make things worse than they already are…for all of us

To respect a mystery is to make way for the answer.

Progress daily in your own uncertainty. Live in awareness of the questions.

So many questions remain unanswered. Perhaps we are poorer for having lost a possible explanation or richer for having gained a mystery. But aren't both possibilities equally intriguing?

She is a smile in the dark

Believe me, men never stare at women, its they who steal our attention - Ramana Pemmaraju

Ultima came to stay with us the summer I was almost seven. When she came the beauty of the llano unfolded before my eyes, and the gurgling waters of the river sang to the hum of the turning earth. The magical time of childhood stood still, and the pulse of the living earth pressed its mystery into my living blood.

Where is our comfort but in the free, uninvolved, finally mysterious beauty and grace of this world that we did not make, that has no price? Where is our sanity but there? Where is our pleasure but in working and resting kindly in the presence of this world? (pg. 215, Economy and Pleasure)

The mystery which underlies the beauty of women is never raised above the reach of all expression until it has claimed kindred with the deeper mystery in our own souls.

The beauty and mystery of this world only emerges through affection, attention, interest and compassion . . . open your eyes wide and actually see this world by attending to its colors, details and irony.

Nothing like beautiful legs. 'Cause with beautiful legs, even if you've been there only once or twice, there might be something up there besides the cunt, there might be something really marvellous this time - it could be a cunt, but it could be - it's just something about looking at the legs just makes you - I'm not saying there's anything wrong with the cunt, I'm just saying, you always imagine - some extra magic when you're looking at the outside portion of the female.

Man is always inferior to a woman, a fact he will never realize nor confess in his lifetime!