Too much information, and yet, in her case, not enough. In a world of diminishing mystery, the unknown persists.

Very many maintain that all we know is still infinitely less than all that still remains unknown.

Our knowledge is a receding mirage in an expanding desert of ignorance.

We know so very little about this strange planet we live on, this haunted world where all answers lead only to more mystery.

There's always fear of the unknown where there's mystery

In mysteries what we know, and our realization of what we do not know, proceed together; the larger the island of knowledge, the longer the shoreline of wonder. It is like the quantum world, where the more we understand its formalism, the stranger that world becomes.

There's always fear of the unknown where there's mystery. It's possible to achieve a state where you realize the truth of life and fear disappears, and a lot of people have reached that state, but next to none of them are on Earth. There's probably a few.

Mystery is never more than a mirage that vanishes as we draw near to look at it.

We are more than all our knowledge. What we know confronts an infinitely encompassing unknown. The world is a mystery, and each of us is a mystery to himself.

Not how the world is, but that it is, is the mystery.

The known is finite, the unknown infinite; intellectually we stand on an islet in the midst of an illimitable ocean of inexplicability.

The world is incomprehensible. We won’t ever understand it; we won’t ever unravel its secrets. Thus we must treat the world as it is: a sheer mystery.

We're forever teetering on the brink of the unknowable, and trying to understand what can't be understood.

[...} many things must remain uncertain, and many a question insoluble, because what we know of nature is by no means sufficient, in all cases, to explain what has to be explained.