Quotes About Depth

I'm not suggesting that ours [series] is unique in that, but they can begin to have that depth, that gravity, they can spend some time, so it's a bit more like reading a good novel, if you like.

What unknown seas of feeling lie in man, and will from time to time break through!

I'm not against people just being funny or telling stories. I don't need to delve into the soft, dark core all the time. If it happens, it happens.

I've played lots of villains in my time and I think the reason they've been so successful is that they're not two-dimensional. They're not black and white. That's the gig.

I think this is one of those issues where the deeper you dig, the murkier it gets - and everyone who has spent a lot of time thinking about these issues.

The common eye sees only the outside of things, and judges by that, but the seeing eye pierces through and reads the heart and the soul, finding there capacities which the outside didn't indicate or promise, and which the other kind of eye couldn't detect.

The common eye sees only the outside of things, and judges by that, but the seeing eye pierces through and reads the heart and the soul.

There's no such thing as an uninteresting life, such a thing is an impossibility. Beneath the dullest exterior, there is a drama, a comedy, a tragedy.

Biographies are but the clothes and buttons of the man. The biography of the man himself cannot be written.

Every one is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody

Ka?dy czÅ'owiek jest jak Ksi??yc. Ma swojÄ… drugÄ… stronÄ™, której nie pokazuje nikomu.

So singularly clear was the water, that where it was only twenty or thirty feet deep the bottom was so perfectly distinct that the boat seemed floating in the air!

Chacun de nous est une lune, avec une face cachée que personne ne voit.

She was reserved, and kept things to herself, as the truly great always do.

for as leaves are to limbs, so are your words to your soul

The greatest love letters are always encoded for the one and not the many.

Love's love in her blackest season.

The inner labyrinth of the psyche . . .

You know this is still the simple answer. I guess the complicated one I don't feel like getting into.

Make no mistake, the woman had a heart. She had a bigger one that people would think. There was a lot in it, stored up, high in miles of hidden shelving. Remember that she was the woman with the instrument strapped to her body in the long, moon-slit night.

Only hearts... They're in the inside of the inside of me.

Es el tipo de cosas que nunca sabré o llegaré a comprender: de qué son capaces los humanos.

That's the sort of thing I'll never know, or comprehend __ what humans are capable of.

If your eyes could speak, what would they say?