Enigmatic Figure Quotes

Bowie has been in my mind as someone who disappeared from the public for a long time and then emerged. A strange, exotic creature - he seems to inherit a tradition of enigma and exclusiveness.

Kate Moss, for example - she's never given a lot of interviews. She stays so mysterious. Nobody knows who she is, really.

Every man sees a little of himself in Rhett Butler.

I'm an enigma, an unknown.

Who was the real Hitchcock? I interviewed him once and haven't a clue.

Jesus is mysterious not just because of what we don't know about him, but because of what we do know about him.

Elodin proved a difficult man to find. He had an office in Hollows, but never seemed to use it. When I visited Ledgers and Lists, I discovered he only taught one class: Unlikely Maths. However, this was less than helpful in tracking him down, as according to the ledger, the time of the class was 'now' and the location was 'everywhere.

Are you telling me you think Ranger's a superhero?' Think about it. We don't know where he lives. We don't know anything about him.' Superheroes are make-believe.' Oh yeah?' Lula said. 'What about God?

He raised his staff. There was a roll of thunder. The sunlight was blotted out from the eastern windows; the whole hall became suddenly dark as night. The fire faded to sullen embers. Only Gandalf could be seen, standing white and tall before the blackened hearth.

Who are you?" because even now, she couldn't let her questions go. "What are you?" That face that wasn't a face smiled. It was the most terrible thing she'd ever see, ever. "Magnus" he said. "I'm the end.

I believe that creature is a changeling: she is a perfect cabinet of oddities.

From the cab stepped a tall old man. Black raincoat and hat and a battered valise. He paid the driver, then turned and stood motionless, staring at the house. The cab pulled away and rounded the corner of Thirty-sixty Street. Kinderman quickly pulled out to follow. As he turned the corner, he noticed that the tall old man hadn't moved but was standing under the streetlight glow, in mist, like a melancholy traveler frozen in time.

Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow, Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow. None has ever caught him yet, for Tom, he is the Master: His songs are stronger songs, and his feet are faster.

I'm a lurid character!

I'm tired of being this solemn poet of the masses, the enigma shrouded in a mystery.

I sometimes feel I have met everyone he ever met, but I never met him. I am afraid to say I have always been - the word I would have to use is - amused by Howard Hughes.

He walks in daylight. But, like a demon, he’s weaker then. He seems to have the powers of a god, but no followers. What would you call him? (Xypher) I wouldn’t call him anything that didn’t make him deliriously happy. (Simone)

The full moon rises. The fog clings to the lowest branches of the spruce trees. The man steps out of the darkest corner of the forest and finds himself transformed into... A monkey? I think not.

He was someone whom everyone admired and liked but whom nobody knew. He was like a book that you could feel good holding, that you could talk about without ever having read, that you could recommend.

the man in black travels with your soul in his pocket.

With slow care rather than stealth we must approach the subject of a certain woman. Her wildness is of such degree, I fear approaching her too quickly even in a story. Should I move recklessly, I might startle even the idea of her into sudden flight.