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Mystery Woman Quotes

Browse 9 quotes about Mystery Woman.

Mystery Woman Quotes

“I have found her, a woman of such striking beauty that my hand aches to putt pen to paper. I long to capture all that I see and feel when I look upon her face, and yet at once I cannot bear to start. For how can I hope to do her justice? There is a nobility to her bearing, not of birth perhaps but of nature. She does not primp and appeal; indeed, it is her very openness, the way she has of meeting one's attention rather than averting her eyes. There is a sureness- a pride even- to the set of her lips, that is breathtaking. She is breathtaking. Now that I have seen her, anyone else would be an imposter. She is truth; truth is beauty; beauty is divine.”

TruthLetterIn LoveNatural BeautyMystery Woman
Book:The Clockmaker's Daughter
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“I have found her, a woman of such striking beauty that my hand aches to put pen to paper. I long to capture all that I see and feel when I look upon her face, and yet at once I cannot bear to start. For how can I hope to do her justice? There is a nobility to her bearing, not of birth perhaps but of nature. She does not primp and appeal; indeed, it is her very openness, the way she has of meeting one's attention rather than averting her eyes. There is a sureness- a pride even- to the set of her lips, that is breathtaking. She is breathtaking. Now that I have seen her, anyone else would be an imposter. She is truth; truth is beauty; beauty is divine.”

TruthLetterIn LoveNatural BeautyMystery Woman
Book:The Clockmaker's Daughter
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“There was something about those birds in the glass aviary that was foreboding and sad. They could fly, but they had no sky. The one who had escaped- the homing pigeon- was mourned, but shouldn't he have been celebrated? He had freedom; he had escaped his predictable route between Malibu and Bel-Air and was now flying in bigger and brighter skies, with a flight plan that was spontaneous and new. And then there was the girl: I had forced myself to forget her but was only successful for an hour or two, and then she would creep back in, the way a spider returns to a musty corner of a room to spin her web.”

FreedomBook TitleCaged BirdMystery Woman
Book:The Gilded Life of Matilda Duplaine
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“There was something more, something difficult to articulate. The woman in the photograph was illuminated: it was that face, of course, with its beautiful features and the enlivened expression, but it was the styling of the image, too. The long, unfussy hair, the romantic dress, loose and earthy, but also alluring where it caught her waist, where a sleeve had been pushed up her arm to reveal sunlit skin. Elodie could almost feel the warm breeze coming off the river to brush against the woman's face, to lift her hair and heat the white cotton of her dress. And yet, that was her mind playing tricks, for there was no river in the picture. It was the freedom of the photograph she was responding to, its atmosphere.”

FreedomPhotographIlluminatedMystery Woman
Book:The Clockmaker's Daughter
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“Ultimately no particular woman had ever seemed all that different from the rest. Until those letters. The sentences had looped around him with a spirit so artless and adorable, he had loved it, loved her, immediately. His thumb moved over the parchment as if it were sensitive living skin. "Mark my words, Audrey- I'm going to marry the woman who wrote this letter.”

Love LettersBeatrix HathawayChristopher PhelanMystery Woman
Book:Love in the Afternoon
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“It's her. The woman from the photo." The plate was foxed around the edges, but the painting at its center was still intact. The annotation beneath gave the title as Sleeping Beauty and the artist's name, Edward Radcliffe. The woman in the painting was lying in a fantastical treetop bower of leaves and flower buds, all of which were waiting in stasis for the chance to bloom. Birds and insects were interspersed amongst the woven branches; long red hair flowed in waves around her sleeping face, which was glorious in repose. Her eyes were closed, but the features of her face- the elegant cheekbones and bow lips- were unmistakable. "She was his model," Elodie whispered.”

PaintingSleeping BeautyModelRedheadMystery Woman
Book:The Clockmaker's Daughter
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“Spices from the Far East- clove and sandalwood and saffron- had drifted through the building's veins from the perfumery next door, infusing the satchel with a hint of faraway places. Open me... The woman in the white gloves unlatched the dull silver buckle and the satchel held its breath. Open me, open me, open me... She pushed back its leather strap and for the first time in over a century light swept into the satchel's dark corners. An onslaught of memories- fragmented, confused- arrived with it: a bell tinkling above the door at W. Simms & Son; the swish of a young woman's skirts; the thud of horses' hooves; the smell of fresh paint and turpentine; heat, lust, whispering. Gaslight in railway stations; a long, winding river; the wheat fragrance of summer-”

MemoriesSpicesMystery WomanSatchel
Book:The Clockmaker's Daughter
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“It was a delicate silver frame, small enough to fit within her hand, containing a photograph of a woman. She was young, with long hair, light but not blond, half of which was wound into a loose knot on the top of her head; her gaze was direct, her chin slightly lifted, her cheekbones high. Her lips were set in an attitude of intelligent engagement, perhaps even defiance. Elodie felt a familiar stirring of anticipation as she took in the sepia tones, the promise of a life awaiting rediscovery. The woman's dress was looser than might be expected for the period. White fabric draped over her shoulders, and the neckline fell in a V. The sleeves were sheer and billowed, and had been pushed to the elbow on one arm. Her wrist was slender, the hand on her hip accentuating the indentation of her waist. The treatment was as unusual as the subject, for the woman wasn't posed inside on a settee or against a scenic curtain, as one might expect in a Victorian portrait. She was outside, surrounded by dense greenery, a setting that spoke of movement and life. The light was diffuse, the effect intoxicating.”

PhotographVictorianMystery WomanUnconventional BeautyWho Is She
Book:The Clockmaker's Daughter
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“The woman glanced up at the stars before lowering to her knees in the sand. She bowed her head, letting the desert grains cover her skirts and run through fingers as she murmured in the old, forgotten language--- the one Agrabah would always respond to. And the ground began to shake. Sand whipped through the air, swirling around the woman, he used her cloak as a shield against the onslaught. The grains spun before her, funneling into a tornado, until every last piece came together to form an unmistakable shape: tigers head, with sharp sandstone for jaws and teeth and a gaping mouth lit by fire. The woman stepped forward and the tiger opened its mouth wider, revealing a glowing staircase within that beckoned her closer. Welcome back, old friend.”

SandMystery WomanCave Of Wonders
Book:Realm of Wonders
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