Quotes About Depth

I worry that the superficial way we read during the day is affecting us when we have to read with more in-depth processing.

Art cannot result from sophisticated, frivolous, or superficial effects.

Of course, I write. I have stories to tell. But I don't want to do superficial stuff any more.

I've never been no superficial cat.

I'm just - like, I'm just very over the whole superficial life and world we live in.

People in this world of superficial communication find themselves isolated and lonely and have difficult in talking about personal things that really matter to them.

I'd read books in Russian, and they would take me forever. I wanted to write a book that would last and would not be superficial. Siberian-travel writing is its own genre.

Beauty shouldn't be superficial and should come from within, and your eyes will tell the story.

If the film is not emotional, then it operates on a superficial level.

If looks help, that's great, but we don't want it to be the featured thing. It's totally superficial.

I'm sure critics feel that there's more to me than superficial glamor.

It's hard for me to be involved in superficial friendships with other women.

Sometimes in L.A., we get accused of being superficial. I feel like Portland's the opposite, in that there's a greater depth of character, and sense of self.

If your attention is on superfluous aspects that are not part of the story, then you can't be concentrating on the human realities of the piece.

Yet, no matter how deeply I go down into myself, my God is dark, and like a webbing made of a hundred roots that drink in silence.

At no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.

Our heart always transcends us.

Do not allow yourself to be misled by the surfaces of things.

Yet, no matter how deeply I go down into myself, my God is dark, and like a webbing made of a hundred roots that drink in silence. I know that my trunk rose from his warmth, but that's all, because my branches hardly move at all near the ground, and just wave a little in the wind.

I am learning to see. I don't know why it is, but everything enters me more deeply and doesn't stop where it once used to. I have an interior that I never knew of. Everything passes into it now. I don't know what happens there.

But when I lean over the chasm of myself— it seems my God is dark and like a web: a hundred roots silently drinking. This is the ferment I grow out of. More I don't know, because my branches rest in deep silence, stirred only by the wind.

And those who come together in the night and are entwined in rocking delight do an earnest work and gather sweetnesses, gather depth and strength for the song of some coming poet, who will arise to speak of ecstasies beyond telling.

You are the deep innerness of all things, the last word that can never be spoken.

Our own heart always exceeds us.