Paul Gallico Quotes

Life is the finest secret. So long as that remains, we must all whisper.

Give me a mystery - just a plain and simple one - a mystery which is diffidence and silence, a slim little bare-foot mystery: give me a mystery - just one!

I love the mystery behind things.

We shall see that at which dogs howl in the dark, and that at which cats prick up their ears after midnight.

Mystery is something that appeals to most everybody.

Now comes the mystery.

The fascination for me is searching the unknown for a mystery.

Flakes of white fall thru the trees and onto the road, catching on our clothes and hair. It's a silent fall and it's weird how it makes everything else seem quiet, too, like it's trying to tell you a secret, a terrible, terrible secret.

To open the dictionary of the Beyond and discover what one suspected, that the only word in it is nothing.

You are afraid of me, because I talk like a sphinx.

Things keep their secrets.

Watching a coast as it slips by the ship is like thinking about an enigma. There it is before you, smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with an air of whispering, "Come and find out".

That there is a secret itself is a secret.

The world is incomprehensible. We won't ever understand it; we won't ever unravel its secrets. Thus we must treat the world as it is: a sheer mystery.

Sphinxes without secrets.

You know what's the sexiest thing of all? A little mystery.

A dog will make eye contact. A cat will, too, but a cat's eyes don't even look entirely warm-blooded to me, whereas a dog's eyes look human except less guarded. A dog will look at you as if to say, "What do you want me to do for you? I'll do anything for you." Whether a dog can in fact, do anything for you if you don't have sheep (I never have) is another matter. The dog is willing.

O mysterious Night! thou art not silent; many tongues halt thou.

Cut off my head, and singular I am, Cut off my tail, and plural I appear; Although my middle's left, there's nothing there! What is my head cut off? A sounding sea; What is my tail cut off? A rushing river; And in their mingling depths I fearless play, Parent of sweetest sounds, yet mute forever.

The secret is that there is no secret.

The Way is ever nameless.

Mademoiselle is a fairy," he said, whispering mysteriously.

There is no escape from mystery. It is the character of our being.

The human face is as strange to me as a countenance, which, the more one looks at it, the more it closes itself off and escapes by the steps of unknown stairways.