Quotes About Depth

We enter people's lives and then realize we've walked into a deep and long history that shapes and gives form to our every moment.

Darkness isn't a hole you hide in; it's the cosmos.

Darkness isn't a hole you hide in; it's the cosmos.

You, Lilah, scare the hell out of me. Why? she whispered. He met her gaze and held it. Because I could fall for you, Lilah. Hard and deep and never want to come back up. She could scarcely breathe. What's wrong with that? We'd drown.

You're not a job to me, Lily. Not even close. You're more. And I think I'm more to you too. I think it's not that you don't feel anything, it's that you feel too much. I scare you.

I want in your life, Elle. All the way in.

Lily drew him in with those eyes, her voice, the outer toughness she showed the world, the inner vulnerability she did her best to hide.

He nodded, still holding her gaze in that way he had that convinced her that not only could he read her mind, but he could see right through her. Inside her.

Lots of things are more than what they seem in a purely physical sense.

There was a universe of pain residing in that ellipses.

Let the deep things stay deep.

Meaning creates emotion.

I seek the substantial in life.

There can be a wonderful substratum of thinking going on beneath the banal tonnage of human behavior. Perhaps

If you dive down deep enough there are no words to bring you up. Not my problem. If you fly too high there are no words to help you land. I went back to my land of bears and learned to bob like an apple on the river's surface.

Sleep is an under-ocean dipped into each night.

A real Irishman will give everything of himself--except that kernel of his soul which makes him a mystery to other peoples.

Eles se disseram, assim eles dois, coisas grandes em palavras pequenas, ti a mim, me a ti, e tanto. Contudo, e felizes, alguma outra coisa se agitava neles, confusa - assim rosa-amor-espinhos-saudade.

The death of a parent, he wrote, "despite our preparation, indeed, despite our age, dislodges things deep in us, sets off reactions that surprise us and that may cut free memories and feelings that we had thought gone to ground long ago. We might, in that indeterminate period they call mourning, be in a submarine, silent on the ocean's bed, aware of the depth charges, now near and now far, buffeting us with recollections.

All one's actual apprehension of what it is like to be a woman, the irreconcilable difference of it—that sense of living one's deepest life underwater, that dark involvement with blood and birth and death—could now be declared in valid, unnecessary, one never felt it at all.

We might, in that indeterminate period they call mourning, be in a submarine, silent on the ocean's bed, aware of the depth charges, now near and now far, buffeting us with recollections.

We might, in that indeterminate period they call mourning, be in a submarine, silent on the ocean's bed, aware of the depth charges, now near and now far, buffeting us with recollections.

We might, in that indeterminate period they call mourning, be in a submarine, silent on the ocean's bed, aware of the depth charges, now near and now far, buffeting us with recollections. . . . Grief is different. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life.

In the aftermath of the wind the air was dry, burning, so clear that she could see the ploughed furrows of firebreaks on distant mountains. Not even the highest palms moved. The stillness and clarity of the air seemed to rob everything of its perspective, seemed to alter all perception of depth, and Maria drove as carefully as if she were reconnoitering an atmosphere without gravity.