I think I can hear the unseen moon

He studied her lips like they were a riddle he desperately needed to solve.

It's the sound of the sea that makes you believe in mermaids.

I profess not to know how women's hearts are wooed and won. To me they have always been matters of riddle and admiration.

Did he put hands on you? Not quite. I think that was going to be next, but O'Brian drew him off. Before that, Clifton got angry I wasn't telling him whatever he wanted to know and accused me of being...

Helgarson won't tell me, but it must have been bad. His fangs pop out if you just say 'Thor' aloud, and he hunts carpenters simply because they use hammers.

Then there are some minor points that strike me as suggestive - for instance, the position of Mrs. Hubbard's sponge bag, the name of Mrs. Armstrong's mother, the detective methods of Mr. Hardman, the...

A blacksmith can go anywhere. A detective inspector only goes where the dead bodies are. "But there aren't any dead people here today." Mina glanced over her shoulder at the chest Newberry carried....

But how had he died? Zoe knew that Gingernut was very young, even in hamster years. Could this be a hamster murder? she wondered. But what kind of person would want to murder a defenseless little...

Arisha noticed that all the greenery and trees were dying the more they walked on. They finally arrived at a large clearing of a hidden valley. But it was desert like, bounded by the foothills of the...

Not even a ghost could survive here.

I am stained with corrupt splendor, I am a code for obscure secrets, I am a being apart, I was born in decadence, and I live over the water. I am as different as possible from you, and yet I am not...

Besides, the mists that surrounded the compound could scramble anything from GPS to Santa Claus.

She smiled again. Do you like cats? she said. Yes, said Richard. I quite like cats. Anesthesia looked relieved. Thigh? she asked, or breast?

We Catholics are very much given to the Instant Answer. Fiction doesn't have any. It leaves us, like Job, with a renewed sense of mystery. St. Gregory wrote that every time the sacred text describes a...

It becomes known as the time of the ostriches. "Are we burying our heads in the sand, Madame? Or are they?" "Maybe everyone does," she murmurs. Madame

But then again, maybe a woman never really knew the men in her life.

She brooded and bit her rich lips: my soul began its first sink into her, deep, heady, lost; like drowning in a witches' brew, Keltic, sorcerous, starlike.

I have never been to St. John's Wood. I dare not. I should be afraid of the innumerable night of fir trees, afraid to come upon a blood red cup and the beating of the wings of the Eagle.

Maybe it hadn't entered my head at all. Maybe it had just brushed past me, like someone easing by in a dark room, the face lost in shadow, my thoughts lost in another conversation, though something in...

Julia. Lydia looked back at the woman with the broom. She was scraping chairs across the sidewalk as she put together the tables. Claire said, That skeevy jackass who got Dad arrested still runs the...

Maybe there are some things we were put on this earth not to know.

Abandon all patience, ye who enter beyond this door.

Monsieur Bienvenu was simply a man who accepted these mysterious questions... and who had in his soul a deep respect for the mystery which enveloped them.

next step?" she said. "We have made contact. We expect her to do the same"

I said, Okay, Luke. Here's my problem. I suspect that your mentor, Mr. Green, is suborning testimony. I think he may even be involved in murder, only I can't figure out why a man in his position and...

But anyone with witch-blood in their veins was worth keeping an eye on. Or Thirteen.

There are bodies buried everywhere you just have to know where to look.

A team of doctors had examined the bodies and had concluded that none of the Riddles had been poisoned, stabbed, shot, strangled, suffocated, or {as far as they could tell} harmed at all. In fact {the...

Turn my head, and you may go where you want. I turn it again, you will stay till you rot. I have no face, but I live or die by my crooked teeth—who am I?