#mystery

…Obviously, I have always wished I could remember what happened in that wood. The very few people who know about the whole Knocknaree thing invariably suggest, sooner or later, that I should try hypnotic regression, but for some reason I find the idea distasteful. I’m deeply suspicious of anything with a whiff of the New Age about it—not because of the practices themselves, which as far as I can tell from a safe distance may well have a lot to them, but because of the people who get involved who always seem to be the kind who corner you at parties to explain how they discovered that they are survivors and deserve to be happy. I worry that I might come out of hypnosis with that sugar-high glaze of self-satisfied enlightenment, like a seventeen-year-old who’s just discovered Kerouak, and start proselytizing strangers in pubs… ↗

— Tana French

#murder #mystery #age

Por que en las epocas oscuras se escribe con tinta invisible? Why in the darkest ages do they write with invisible ink? ↗

— Pablo Neruda

#age

In Paris, women were not considered interesting until they were middle-aged. The Mist of Montmartre ↗

— Peggy Kopman-Owens

#paris #romance #age

We were the creatures desired throughout the ages... foolish humans didn't even realize it, living in their own little world. ↗

— Kaylynne Spauls

#age

The intersection of pork and man was circumscribed with vagueness. Until now sausage was a mysterious world: the fenced-in landscapes of strange, exotic muds, the cloak-and-dagger butchers that veiled their conversations in Old French, the silencing of whole towns upon a nocturnal report of a flying swarm of oinks, the secret herbs and spices involved in the intestinal displacement before my screen. My own sacred art suddenly stirred a sense of understanding in me as to why pig farmers were so reluctant to explain their missing bicuspids to outsiders: sausage could not have effects. ↗

— Benson Bruno

#mystery #sausage #secret-society #art

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) ↗

— Wendell Berry

#creation #mystery #pleasure #work #art

Beware. Those with the least amount of authority exercise it the most often. ↗

— Peggy Kopman-Owens

#adventure #mystery #suspense #travel #art

If there was a day of the week I could skip it would be Monday. Clients had too much time to think and worry over a long weekend and by Monday they were often riddled with fear and anxiety. ↗

— Stan Turner

#murder-mystery #stock-market-crash #wortd-war-ii-art-thefts #art

The riders, clad in crimson and black, stopped to scan the maze. Blaise shrank into the hedge, but one keen-eyed hunter spied him. He raised his crossbow, took careful aim and fired. ↗

— Teresa Flavin

#art #history #mystery #young-adult #art

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. ↗

— Rudolfo Anaya

#beauty #bless #childhood #llano #me