That's the whole problem with science. You've got a bunch of empiricists trying to describe things of unimaginable wonder.
There may be things that are completely unknowable to us, so we must be careful not to treat the limits of our knowledge as sure guides to the limit of what there is.
Life is a hideous thing, and from the background behind what we know of it peer daemoniacal hints of truth which make it sometimes a thousandfold more hideous.
All our knowledge - past, present, and future - is nothing compared to what we will never know.
There are too many other inexplicable things around us--horrors, threats, mysteries that draw you in and then inevitably disenchant you. Back to the predictable and humdrum. The prince is never going to come, everybody knows that; and maybe Sleeping Beauty's dead.
Childhood has its secrets and its mysteries; but who can tell or who can explain them!
God knows the times I have found myself in absurd situations.
There's a sea secret in me / it's plain to see it is rising / but I must be flowing liquid diamonds / calling for my soul / at the corners of the world
The fact that many things have no explanation ought to prevent them from happening; but it doesn't.
Give thanks for sorrow that teaches you pity; for pain that teaches you courage-and give exceedingly thanks for the mystery which remains a mystery still-the veil that hides you from the infinite, which makes it possible for you to believe in what you cannot see.
Nature can refuse to speak but she cannot give a wrong answer.
We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.
Only the knife knows what goes on in the heart of a pumpkin.
The marvelous thing is that for thousands of years people have continued questioning and searching and ultimately concluding that reasons for certain occurrences are not given to man to know.
We don't have to look far for miracles because they're all around us. Everything is astonishing. The universe on it's surface is alive with mystery.
The veil is slowly rising, but as regards innumerable questions we must be content to remain in ignorance.
The world is full of wonders that cannot be measured. That is why they are wonders.
In utter loneliness a writer tries to explain the inexplicable.
It's often said that life is strange. But compared to what?
How inscrutable and incomprehensible are the hidden works of Nature!
Psychology which explains everything explains nothing, and we are still in doubt.
I think it's frightening for all of us to contemplate that there's more to the universe than just us, in whatever form it takes, that there are higher forces at work, and to me, that's always a scary notion.
Truth is much stranger than fiction and, often, much more powerful.
The ocean is an object of no small terror.
Miracles, in the sense of phenomena we cannot explain, surround us on every hand: life itself is the miracle of miracles.
