mystery

Sometimes love finds you when it__ ready. And when you__e ready too. How that happens is anybody__ guess. Love is the great mystery stew, its secrets well kept, its ingredients known to providence alone. While both people are being prepared, marinated, skewered,cooked to readiness in the fires of life, the cosmic alchemist is turning the pot, reverently preparing the base for the lovers who will meld into it. Only God knows when the stew is ready to be served. Divine timing, Divine dining_

science enables you to look things differently.

I owe my first inkling of the problem of infinity to a large biscuit tin that was a source of vertiginous mystery during my childhood.

I know you. Perversity is your aphrodisiac.

If one could order a crime as one does a dinner, what would you choose? . . . Let__ review the menu. Robbery? Frogery? No, I think not. Rather too vegetarian. It must be murder__ed-blooded murder__ith trimmings, of course.

Our town carves up and spits out a few seeds each year. We all approach autumn with dread because nobody wants to be a seed.

He's not a safe safe or a tame God, securely lodged behind the bars of a distant Heaven; He has the most annoying manner of showing up when we least want Him; of confronting us in the strangest ways.

Suddenly the images in the center of the room became more than images. They solidified.

Next time she__ have to ask him to keep the light on while he did it, so she could watch his face. That was the best part of the whole thing as far as she was concerned, the way a guy__ face contorted so violently and then relaxed, as if some terrible mystery had just been solved.

She'd always despised the whole other woman thing, but here she was, entertaining the possibility.

Respect both what you need to know and what you don't need to know. Respect mystery, for mystery is still needed to run the universe.

Death lurked everywhere. Death was alive and well.

The biggest mistake you can make is thinking you know who you are.

Shadowed beneath his brow bone were cold dark eyes containing secrets and sadness, bitterness and grief.

The waitress came by with a pot of black coffee. She was a smallish woman, about forty, still had some of her looks left, but she had a hardness to her face. Money and bad men were the only things that left that much stone in a woman. I nudged my cup in her direction, and she served her purpose in life.

There's only one way of escaping trouble; and that's killing things." Henry Higgins, Act V, Pygmalion

Faith is not knowledge of what the mystery of the universe is, but the conviction that there is a mystery, and that it is greater than us.

When it came to watching television, Ted was ambidextrous.