mystery, like sherlock holmes or nancy drew. mystery, like a magnifying glass, and there is something there you need to find out. isn’t life kind of a mystery? or love, or friendship, or destiny? old, tattered books stuffed in boxes in the attic lined with dust. old people. old stories. old memories waiting to be discovered again. the future is just as much of a mystery as the past. who knows who you are or what lays in wait within you?
Maggie
It is a concept a consistency-craving mind seeks to define out of the blue. There is no mystery but the mystery of mystery itself. Although, it is no mystery, if you look at it rationally. Just leave it alone! Let it be! You don’t have to know everything! You just have to be good with what you actually deal.
Kristaps
I really enjoy mystery novels and movies because they are almost all interesting, and awesome and stuff ya k. uh ya.
Ashley
the door swung open, he didn’t know what to expect. he dipped his head forward, ready to glace at what was in store. Eyes darting, fingers trembling he saw, and gasped.
Bella, 14.
the cat walked around the old bard, where the mouse was? that wa a mystery
Hailey Nicewicz
I ran into her arms, searching of the embrace that would subdue all of the questions. At that point, life was no mystery; it was the simple touch of love.
Rikki
I’m full of mystery sometimes, even to myself. It’s frightening, but I keep all my best secrets on the inside, or the outside, out of view and out of reach. I think mystery is the gravity which tethers us to the world. Would we not float away and fly away without something to pull us continually forward, continually moving.
Sossina
you are a mystery to me, you are something i do not understand
you are are filed with no clues and darkness
you are hidden
you are lost
you are unknown
you are not mine
you are to be gone
you are a mystery
some one
or something to which i will
never learn about
Love is a mystery. Literally. I can’t find it anywhere. I’ve looked under the couch, down the drain, underneath the clothes that need washing, in the boiler cupboard, below the stairs, under the pillow, in the fusebox. I simply can’t find it anywhere.
sean is a mystery the feeling of love is just mysterious to me. its confusing, its unreal and so unexplainable. mystery..falling in love with another only to fall in love with myself. what? it’s everything, it’s unreal. its mysterious to think such a thing can exist…..
JVo
She was always a mystery to me. From the first day I met her, she was a mystery wrapped up in darkness.
“Hello,” I’d said to her, that first day we’d met.
She just turned up her nose and the whisper of “salutations,” had come floating back to me over her shoulder.
Puzzling, tripping, contemplation. the mind stumped, the heart longing for settlement. you struggle with the facts known and unknown, you connect the pieces you can and the rest is a blur. mystery is part of the human experience, if we had all the answers, there would be no point.
Taylor
I cannot see through
the hole of your pupil
nor read the lines of your palm
I cannot hear your whisperings
that stroll from heart to brain.
I don’t know what you’re thinking
when you half smile like that
I don’t know how to pick up intonations
of your voice in a simple chat
I don’t know how you dream
or if you dream of me.
But I know I always wonder
whether I’ll solve your mystery.
Ellie
Every single day I sit and stare at you. In math class you tend to bite on your bottom lip if the equation is too hard, and in English you tap your pencil to the beat of Bohemian Rhapsody. I could tell you every little thing about you, but your heart is still a mystery.
Megan
She was always a mystery to me. From the first day I met her, she was a mystery wrapped up in darkness.
“Hello,” I’d said to her, that first day we’d met.
She just turned up her nose and the whisper of “salutations,” had come floating back to me over her shoulder.
Tessa
What is it? Do you want to know what this is? I don’t know what I’m getting into… What will it be like? I want to know more! Give me an answer to this.
Sarah
“It’s a mystery,” he said.
“What is?”
“The whole reason I’m here. The reason I’m not far, far away by now. Why I have this incessant feeling that I am only worth anything when I’m in this place.”
I sometimes like to have a little mystery in my life. Not enough where, in the end, I can’t guess what is going to happen, but I like that hint of a thrill. That if I didn’t try to guess, I wouldn’t know what was going to happen. Then, I’d be taken by surprise for once.
Life is a mystery. We don’t know (really) where we come from, nor what the future holds. We revel in the mystery, the contemplated unknown. What would life REALly be if we could predict everything & know everything. We would be incredibly bored.
Lynda Poole
nancy drew. the books my dad read at night when I was falling asleep. the seahorse from spongebob. the intentions of men. how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop.
Gabrielle Sabrino
mystery novels! i should really start reading those. or writing one. i could inspired by eerie pictures and shows like CSI. how fascinating would that be! novels and ghosts and such.
elaina
People love mysteries, it’s a dark forbidden path we long after but are too afraid to seek. Mysteries pertain to death and torture and all the things that make us afraid, but deep down intigue us. I love mysteries.
Building a Mystery. Her former roommate’s favorite song to describe the relationship she’d had with their other former roommate’s ex-boyfriend. But Davey’s posturing about being alluring, mysterious, otherworldly, and whatever crap he tried to pull to charm the ladies was a lie.
When Valerie was lying next to Daniel in a tent at the foot of Mayan ruins, listening to him scream in his sleep, she knew she had a real mystery on her hands.
Nancy Drew novels. That’s all I can think of – the staircase, the trunk, the tapping shoes. Bess and George – both of whom were girls. They were women with power, solved those mysteries, and looked classy doing it. I never understood how her mind could be so analytical like that, how she had the ability to piece everything together perfectly. Maybe it was because she was fiction.
I shuffle down the street glaring at passing people. It’s not fair, why should their lives get to be so uneventful? Where are their mysteries?
I’m not a detective. I flunked out of high school. I’m not even smart.
But that doesn’t matter.
Because right now I’m hunting down my father’s murderer.
The novels lined the shelves, and glass jars filled with strange sparkling liquid decorated spaces between the bookends. She stood in between the tall shelves and looked up. In which of these volumes would the secret be hidden?
mystery, like sherlock holmes or nancy drew. mystery, like a magnifying glass, and there is something there you need to find out. isn’t life kind of a mystery? or love, or friendship, or destiny? old, tattered books stuffed in boxes in the attic lined with dust. old people. old stories. old memories waiting to be discovered again. the future is just as much of a mystery as the past. who knows who you are or what lays in wait within you?
It is a concept a consistency-craving mind seeks to define out of the blue. There is no mystery but the mystery of mystery itself. Although, it is no mystery, if you look at it rationally. Just leave it alone! Let it be! You don’t have to know everything! You just have to be good with what you actually deal.
I really enjoy mystery novels and movies because they are almost all interesting, and awesome and stuff ya k. uh ya.
the door swung open, he didn’t know what to expect. he dipped his head forward, ready to glace at what was in store. Eyes darting, fingers trembling he saw, and gasped.
the cat walked around the old bard, where the mouse was? that wa a mystery
I ran into her arms, searching of the embrace that would subdue all of the questions. At that point, life was no mystery; it was the simple touch of love.
I’m full of mystery sometimes, even to myself. It’s frightening, but I keep all my best secrets on the inside, or the outside, out of view and out of reach. I think mystery is the gravity which tethers us to the world. Would we not float away and fly away without something to pull us continually forward, continually moving.
you are a mystery to me, you are something i do not understand
you are are filed with no clues and darkness
you are hidden
you are lost
you are unknown
you are not mine
you are to be gone
you are a mystery
some one
or something to which i will
never learn about
Love is a mystery. Literally. I can’t find it anywhere. I’ve looked under the couch, down the drain, underneath the clothes that need washing, in the boiler cupboard, below the stairs, under the pillow, in the fusebox. I simply can’t find it anywhere.
sean is a mystery the feeling of love is just mysterious to me. its confusing, its unreal and so unexplainable. mystery..falling in love with another only to fall in love with myself. what? it’s everything, it’s unreal. its mysterious to think such a thing can exist…..
She was always a mystery to me. From the first day I met her, she was a mystery wrapped up in darkness.
“Hello,” I’d said to her, that first day we’d met.
She just turned up her nose and the whisper of “salutations,” had come floating back to me over her shoulder.
thriller, scary, haunting, gives you the chills, unexpected, crazy, unexplainable, interesting. :)
Nobody remembers me.
I’m already gone.
Nobody will care.
And nobody will share.
My existence is a mystery.
My life is a song.
But you didn’t listen.
It a tune you would love,
but you didn’t care
So am I a mystery,
or was I even ever there?
Puzzling, tripping, contemplation. the mind stumped, the heart longing for settlement. you struggle with the facts known and unknown, you connect the pieces you can and the rest is a blur. mystery is part of the human experience, if we had all the answers, there would be no point.
I cannot see through
the hole of your pupil
nor read the lines of your palm
I cannot hear your whisperings
that stroll from heart to brain.
I don’t know what you’re thinking
when you half smile like that
I don’t know how to pick up intonations
of your voice in a simple chat
I don’t know how you dream
or if you dream of me.
But I know I always wonder
whether I’ll solve your mystery.
Every single day I sit and stare at you. In math class you tend to bite on your bottom lip if the equation is too hard, and in English you tap your pencil to the beat of Bohemian Rhapsody. I could tell you every little thing about you, but your heart is still a mystery.
She was always a mystery to me. From the first day I met her, she was a mystery wrapped up in darkness.
“Hello,” I’d said to her, that first day we’d met.
She just turned up her nose and the whisper of “salutations,” had come floating back to me over her shoulder.
What is it? Do you want to know what this is? I don’t know what I’m getting into… What will it be like? I want to know more! Give me an answer to this.
“It’s a mystery,” he said.
“What is?”
“The whole reason I’m here. The reason I’m not far, far away by now. Why I have this incessant feeling that I am only worth anything when I’m in this place.”
I sometimes like to have a little mystery in my life. Not enough where, in the end, I can’t guess what is going to happen, but I like that hint of a thrill. That if I didn’t try to guess, I wouldn’t know what was going to happen. Then, I’d be taken by surprise for once.
Life is a mystery. We don’t know (really) where we come from, nor what the future holds. We revel in the mystery, the contemplated unknown. What would life REALly be if we could predict everything & know everything. We would be incredibly bored.
nancy drew. the books my dad read at night when I was falling asleep. the seahorse from spongebob. the intentions of men. how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop.
mystery novels! i should really start reading those. or writing one. i could inspired by eerie pictures and shows like CSI. how fascinating would that be! novels and ghosts and such.
People love mysteries, it’s a dark forbidden path we long after but are too afraid to seek. Mysteries pertain to death and torture and all the things that make us afraid, but deep down intigue us. I love mysteries.
Building a Mystery. Her former roommate’s favorite song to describe the relationship she’d had with their other former roommate’s ex-boyfriend. But Davey’s posturing about being alluring, mysterious, otherworldly, and whatever crap he tried to pull to charm the ladies was a lie.
When Valerie was lying next to Daniel in a tent at the foot of Mayan ruins, listening to him scream in his sleep, she knew she had a real mystery on her hands.
Nancy Drew novels. That’s all I can think of – the staircase, the trunk, the tapping shoes. Bess and George – both of whom were girls. They were women with power, solved those mysteries, and looked classy doing it. I never understood how her mind could be so analytical like that, how she had the ability to piece everything together perfectly. Maybe it was because she was fiction.
You do not need to look far to find mystery. One associated “mystery” with the mystical and the magical, but mystery is all around us, in Nature.
I shuffle down the street glaring at passing people. It’s not fair, why should their lives get to be so uneventful? Where are their mysteries?
I’m not a detective. I flunked out of high school. I’m not even smart.
But that doesn’t matter.
Because right now I’m hunting down my father’s murderer.
The novels lined the shelves, and glass jars filled with strange sparkling liquid decorated spaces between the bookends. She stood in between the tall shelves and looked up. In which of these volumes would the secret be hidden?