Mystery Alaska Quotes

He—that's Simon Bolivar—was shaken by the overwhelming revelation that the headlong race between his misfortunes and his dreams was at that moment reaching the finish line. The rest was darkness. Damn it," he sighed. "'How will I ever get out of this labyrinth!' "So what's the labyrinth?" I asked her. "That's the mystery, isn't it? Is the labyrinth living or dying? Which is he trying to escape—the world or the end of it?

So we gave up. I'd finally had enough of chasing after a ghost who did not want to be discovered. We'd failed, maybe, but some mysteries aren't meant to be solved. I still did not know her as I wanted to, but I never could. She made it impossible for me. And the accident, the suicide, would never be anything else, and I was left to ask, Did I help you to a fate you didn't want, Alaska, or did I jsut assist in your willful self-destruction? Because they are different crimes, and I didn't know wheter to feel angry at myself for letting go. But we knew what could be found out, and in finding out, she had made us closer- the Colonel adn Takumi and me, anyway. And that was it. She didn't leave me enough to discover her, but she left me enough to rediscover the Great Perhaps.

So we gave up. I'd finally had enough of chasing after a ghost who did not want to be seen. We'd failed, maybe, but some mysteries aren't meant to be solved.

Too pissed off to cry, I said, 'This is only making me hate her. I don't want to hate her. And what's the point, if that's all it's making me do?' Still refusing to answer how and why questions. Still insisting on an aura of mystery. I leaned forward, head between by knees, and the Colonel placed a head on my upper back. 'The point is that there are always alsweres, Pudge.' And then he pushed air out between his pursed lips and I could hear the angry quiver in his voice as he repeated, 'There are always answers. We just have to be smart enough.' ~Miles/Pudge and Chip/the Colonel, pg 168

Her underwear, her jeans, the comforter, my corduroys and my boxers between us, I thought. Five layers, and yet I felt it, the nervous warmth of touching – a pale reflection of the fireworks of one mouth on another, but a reflection nonetheless. And in the almostness of the moment, I cared at least enough. I wasn’t sure whether I liked her, and doubted whether I could trust her, but I cared at least enough to try to find out. Her on my bed, wide green eyes staring down at me. The enduring mystery of her sly, almost smirking, smile. Five layers between us.

Nineteenth-century preacher Henry Ward Beecher's last words were "Now comes the mystery." The poet Dylan Thomas, who liked a good drink at least as much as Alaska, said, "I've had eighteen straight whiskeys. I do believe that's a record," before dying. Alaska's favorite was playwright Eugene O'Neill: "Born in a hotel room, and--God damn it--died in a hotel room." Even car-accident victims sometimes have time for last words. Princess Diana said, "Oh God. What's happened?" Movie star James Dean said, "They've got to see us," just before slamming his Porsche into another car. I know so many last words. But I will never know hers.

That's the mystery, isn't it? Is the labyrinth living or dying? Which is he trying to escape---the world or the end of it?

So we gave up. I'd finally had enough of chasing after a ghost who did not want to be discovered. We'd failed, maybe, but some mysteries aren't meant to be solved. I still did not know her as I wanted to, but I never could. She made it impossible for me. And the accicide, the student, would never be anything else, and I was left to ask, Did I help you toward a fate you didn't want, Alaska, or did I assist your willful self-destruction? Because they are different crimes, and I didn't know whether to feel angry at her for making me part of her suicide or just to feel angry at myself for letting her go.

We'd failed, maybe, but some mysteries aren't meant to be solved.

I don't understand why you're so obsessed with figuring out everything that happens here, like we have to unravel every mystery.

She raised her head again. "Aren't you supposed to come over all manly man and forbid the little lady from taking such risks with her fragile self?" "I like my balls right where they are," he said, and she laughed and put her head back down on his chest. Kate Shugak to Jim Chopin Though Not Dead

At the moment developing a nice little inoffensive cancer somewhere on dry land seemed infinitely preferable to what she was grimly convinced was soon to be her death by drowning way too far out at sea.

That’s the mystery, isn’t it? Is the labyrinth living or dying? Which is he trying to escape—the world or the end of it?

God brought you here for a purpose greater than your own.

The quest into the forbidden tugged at my very soul until I found myself stumbling right into the path of a man so deliciously terrifying with his twisted ways, I couldn’t help but be drawn to the mystery surrounding him. He was everything I thought I wanted.

Nineteenth century preacher Henry Ward Beecher's last words were, now comes the mystery.

Now comes the mystery

she said, "That's the mystery, isn't it? Is the labyrinth living or dying? Which is he trying to escape- the world or the end of it?

That's the mystery, isn't it? Is the labyrinth living or dying? Which is he trying to escape - the world or the end of it?

If she were honest with herself - brutally honest, that was - the fact that he remained a mystery intrigued her, drew her in and kept her there.

Alaska Dispatch said the disappearance never made it into the Newspapers at the time, and adds, “His vanishing is like all the others, who over the years have turned to ghosts; their disappearances leaving no trace of them at all behind...

There was something compelling about him. And it was more than the tall, dark and handsome thing he had going for him, or the adorable dog who followed him around. It was the eyes, she realized. The way they'd fixed on her, given her one hundred percent of his attention. A psychologist's trick, surely, but it had felt personal.

Nineteenth-century preacher Henry Ward Beecher's last words were “Now comes the mystery.” The poet Dylan Thomas, who liked a good drink at least as much as Alaska, said, “I've had eighteen straight whiskeys. I do believe that's a record,” before dying. Alaska's favorite was playwright Eugene O'Neill: “Born in a hotel room, and—God damnit— died in a hotel room.” Even car-accident victims sometimes have time for last words. Princess Diana said, “Oh God. What's happened?” Movie star James Dean said, “They've got to see us,” just before slamming his Porsche into another car. I know so many last words. But I will never know hers.

I woke up half an hour later, when she sat down on my bed, her butt against my hip. Her underwear, her jeans, the comforter, my corduroys, and my boxers between us, I thought. Five layers, and yet I felt it, the nervous warmth of touching—a pale reflection of the fireworks of one mouth on another, but a reflection nonetheless. And in the almostness of the moment, I cared at least enough. I wasn’t sure whether I liked her, and I doubted whether I could trust her, but I cared at least enough to try to find out. Her on my bed, wide green eyes staring down at me. The enduring mystery of her sly, almost smirking, smile. Five layers between us. She continued as if I hadn’t been asleep.

The continent is full of buried violence, of the bones of antediluvian monsters and of lost races of man, of mysteries which are wrapped in doom. The atmosphere is at times so electrical that the soul is summoned out of its body and runs amok. Like the rain everything comes in bucketsful - or not at all. The whole continent is a huge volcano whose crater is temporarily concealed by a moving panorama which is partly dream, partly fear, partly despair. From Alaska to Yucatan it's the same story. Nature dominates. Nature wins out. Everywhere the same fundamental urge to slay, to ravage, to plunder. Outwardly they seem like a fine, upstanding people - healthy, optimistic, courageous. Inwardly they are filled with worms. A tiny spark and they blow up.

Every time the cataclysmic concept has come to life, the 'beast' has been stoned, burned at the stake, beaten to a pulp, and buried with a vengeance; but the corpse simply won't stay dead. Each time, it raises the lid of its coffin and says in sepulchral tones: 'You will die before I.' The latest of the challengers is Prof. Frank C. Hibben, who in his book, 'The Lost Americans,' said: 'This was no ordinary extinction of a vague geological period which fizzled to an uncertain end. This death was catastrophic and all inclusive. [...] What caused the death of forty million animals. [...] The 'corpus delicti' in this mystery may be found almost anywhere. [...] Their bones lie bleaching in the sands of Florida and in the gravels of New Jersey. They weather out of the dry terraces of Texas and protrude from the sticky ooze of the tar pits off Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles. [...] The bodies of the victims are everywhere. [...] We find literally thousands together [...] young and old, foal with dam, calf with cow. [...] The muck pits of Alaska are filled with evidence of universal death [...] a picture of quick extinction. [...] Any argument as to the cause [...] must apply to North America, Siberia, and Europe as well.' '[...] Mamooth and bison were torn and twisted as though by a cosmic hand in a godly rage.' '[...] In many places the Alaskan muck blanket is packed with animal bones and debris in trainload lots [...] mammoth, mastodon [...] bison, horses, wolves, bears, and lions. [...] A faunal population [...] in the middle of some cataclysmic catastrophe [...] was suddenly frozen [...] in a grim charade.' Fantastic winds; volcanic burning; inundation and burial in muck; preservation by deep-freeze. 'Any good solution to a consuming mystery must answer all of the facts,' challenges Hibben.

younger

The night air was crystal-still. When she listened, Kris heard the blood pulse in her ears. Nothing could be more different from Los Angeles: from its hard, unwinking lights; the ceaseless, restless movement of cars and people; the background rumble of engines and brakes and tires rolling on hot pavement; and the city’s grit blown against your skin, plugging your nose, coating your mouth, and sticking to your sweat.

Connections to others, it would seem, genuine, deeply felt caring, really was the thing that, in the end, caused our lives to make sense. Without it, we were nothing more than empty shells, existing in time and space but not really living.

Andy smiled. “How many guns does an Alaskan need?” Vic made an I-don’t-know face. “Just one more,” I told him. Andy laughed.

Well, he was a good uncle when it truly mattered." "Like when you became a fugitive and needed somewhere to stay, so he signed me up for the job," he says dryly. "Yeah, exactly!

would not wish any companion in the world but you” –William Shakespeare

Detective Conrad Spencer from New York is our mystery man,” Sarah explained. “He's the new brain in town that will be solving the case of whoever is knocking over the 'Moose Crossing' signs in town. But then again,” she added, “the man sure did seem to know who I was, now didn't he?

...an incisive, smartly informative memoir that celebrates the power of the cohesive family unit—its outcome will offer positivity and hope to those facing similar challenges. —KIRKUS REVIEWS Deep Waters is a survival story of the highest order, navigating the complex terrain of marriage, medical crisis, and a future reimagined. After the trauma of her husband’s stroke, Mathews returns to a basic truth: through love, we discover who we are, and who we hope to become. —CAROLINE VAN HEMERT, award-winning author of The Sun is a Compass Mathews has penned a deeply personal love story with the careful rigor of the scientist she is, free of any giddy prose or rainbows. Instead, Deep Waters comes at the reader with the gloves off and goes a full twelve rounds, documenting in granular detail the fears and conflicts attending a life-altering event that can drive even a strong relationship onto the ropes, and the endurance, commitment, and deep love that can save it. —LYNN SCHOOLER, critically acclaimed author of The Blue Bear and Walking Home With love as rugged and wild as the Alaskan landscape she made home, biologist Beth Ann Mathews tells the story of another wilderness: marriage after a life-altering stroke. Deep Waters is a thoughtful and provoking read, a reminder that life and love are inexplicably fragile and resilient, full of unexpected discovery. —ABBY MASLIN, author of Love You Hard Urgent, informative, emotionally satisfying, and thought-provoking, Deep Waters opens with a harrowing medical mystery and rewards the reader with a loving account of an adventurous partnership made stronger by crisis. —ANDROMEDA ROMANO-LAX, author of Annie and the Wolves We felt like we were there with Beth, sharing her emotions, anguish and struggles through the stroke, hospital stay, and recovery. We felt like part of the family as we read, gasped, cried and hoped for recovery and for peace in her heart.”—TBD BOOK CLUB, Seattle, WA If books were birds, this one would be an arctic tern—powerful and graceful, beset by storms and learning to survive, and more, to thrive. The writing is feather-light yet strong. —KIM HEACOX, author of Jimmy Bluefeather Mathews writes with poignant honesty about the challenges of marriage, family, and community in a moving story that highlights the strengths of human relationships. Deep Waters starts with a bang and just keeps going—lively, vivid, and personal. — ROMAN DIAL, author of The Adventurer’s Son: A Memoir

Invincible, or A Knight’s Tale, Patch Adams, or Remember the Titans. U571, Legally Blonde, The Replacements, Mystery Alaska, Coach Carter, Erin Brockovich, Working Girl, G I Jane, Miracle, Secretariat, Braveheart, Apollo 13, Gladiator or 8 Mile … I

This book reveals many strange hauntings, of one sort or another. But the connecting message they bring is that we are not alone. There are dimensions and principalities beyond those we can see, with mysteries that baffle, amaze, and terrify.

I would not wish any companion in the world but you” ​— ​WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Can you see Alaska from here?” “No.” “But you know it’s there, right? And you can’t see your heart, but you feel it beat, right? That’s what faith is about. We believe in what we can’t see. Instead, we look for signs.

turn, it slid solidly into the tree, mashing a stanchion

Even in times so modern, America is not just a racist nation, but one of the most racist nations, and you forget it at your peril.

I was well aware that the people in your life were simply borrowed; even the ones closest to you could be gone at any moment.

and gotten them back on the trail. They would continue to dry out on the run. He had also replaced his heavy insulated mittens. They were a soggy mess, frozen stiff, and would have to

Tectonic power and glacial force push and pull the geology, spreading it to it's absolute limit, yet layered and rich with hues of darkness, immortality, and mysteries not meant for men.