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Quotes about Mystery

What occurs between the lover and the beloved is the entire fullness of the Godhead. .. the God is born in solitude, from the secret mystery of the individual. The separation between life and love is the contradiction between solitude and togetherness.
— Carl Jung
In Genesis God is multiplying the mystery of the Trinity in his image bearers by creating another individual who stands on level ground with the man and is completely different from, yet one with him. The oxygen hasn't grown thin after all. God is still vision casting--this time for male/female relationships.
— Carolyn Custis James
I'll be long gone before some smart person ever figures out what happened inside this Oval Office." (Washington DC, 12 May, 2008)
— George W. Bush
Secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster.
— Charles Dickens
And anyway, I suspect he secretly liked it when a woman was cold and distant
— JM Coetzee
The boy is special, Aunt Annie told his mother, and his mother in turn told him. But what kind of special? No one ever says.
— JM Coetzee
Don't tell them too much about your soul. They're waiting for just that.
— Jack Kerouac
What is he aching to do? What are we all aching to do? What do we want?" She didn't know. She yawned. She was sleepy. It was too much. Nobody could tell. Nobody would ever tell. It was all over. She was eighteen and most lovely, and lost.
— Jack Kerouac
And suddenly, not a soul's at the store as for other & similar & just as blank reasons, they've gone to the silence, the suppers of their own mystery.
— Jack Kerouac
It reminds me of a remark Lucien [Carr] once made to me: He said You never seem to give yourself away completely, but of course dark-haired people are so mysterious.
— Jack Kerouac
Ripples in the upside down lake of the void . . . The bottom of the world is gold and the world is upside down
— Jack Kerouac
In winter darkness, the Baghdad Arabian keen blue deepness of the piercing lovely January winter's dusk--it used to tear my heart out, one stabbing soft star was in the middle of the magicalest blue, throbbing like love--I saw Maggie's black hair in this night-- In the shelves of Orion her eye shades, borrowed, gleamed a dark and proud vellum somber power brooding rich bracelets of the moon rose from our snow, and surrounded the mystery.
— Jack Kerouac