Life and art are nothing but associations of ideas and sorrows that nourish our illusory quest for the Holy Grail of human existence. It’s a mystery!
Dogma is the guardian of mystery. The doctrines are spiritually significant in ways that we cannot fathom.
It is now, at Advent, that I am given the chance to suspend all expectation...and instead to revel in the mystery.
Instead of cream, I like fog in my coffee. Makes me feel like I’m drinking the mystery that is love.
All civilizations at some time have fallen into this total terror, when the mystery of life was a kind of panic only to be assuaged by the spilling of blood.
But what are facts, really, except things we’ve already proven? There could be lots of almost-facts out there, still waiting for proof.
What GOD has joined together, let no man put asunder. Your consummation is an eternal binding. It is a glorious mystery not realized by many, and abused by most." ~SCRIBER~
The Initial Mystery that attends any journey is: how did the traveler reach his starting point in the first place?
Everybody trusts a guy in a raincoat. I don't know why. It's just one of those mystery facts.
The logic behind patriotism is a mystery. At least a man who believes that his own family or clan is superior to all others is familiar with more than 0.000003% of the people involved.
I'm dark matter. The universe inside of me is full of something, and science can't even shine a light on it. I feel like I'm mostly made of mysteries.
Anyone who has actually been that sad can tell you that there's nothing beautiful or literary or mysterious about depression.
I never fell. I don't care what they say. I'm still doing my job, as I see it.
The beginning of Eternity, The end of time and space, The beginning of every end, And the end of every place. What am I?
Art never responds to the wish to make it democratic; it is not for everybody; it is only for those who are willing to undergo the effort needed to understand it.
Anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days.
We are now living in an age which doubts both fact and value. It is the life of this age that we wish to see and judge.
When there is a tendency to compartmentalize the spiritual and make it resident in a certain type of life only, the spiritual is apt gradually to be lost.
What mysteries we are, human, vampire, monster, mortal, that we can love and hate simultaneously, and that emotions of all sorts might not parade for what they are not.
I’m so shy I make Bigfoot look like a socialite. Networking’s not a mystery to me—but I’m mythical to networking.
It is curious to note the old sea-margins of human thought! Each subsiding century reveals some new mystery; we build where monsters used to hide themselves.
