Quotes About Depth

Bet she looks as good inside as out – warm, red, inviting, all those little wrinkles tempting you deeper and deeper…

Igual que algo que se hunde y reposa sobre el fondo de un lago al que no llega la luz, así escapan los recuerdos a nuestro alcance. Pero si alargas el brazo lo suficiente bajo la superficie del agua, tus dedos rozarán aquello que los ojos no ven. Cógelo y tráelo a la superficie, donde la luz volverá a iluminarlo.

A heart has no shape, no limits. That's why you can put almost any kind of thing in it, why it can hold so much. It's much like your memory, in that sense.

Eye contact: how souls catch fire.

We lament the speed of our society and the lack of depth and the nature of disposable information.

Let a man go to the bottom of what he is and believe in that.

inside of a man lies a heart, but in a heart does not lie a man.

What is precious inside us does not care to be known by the mind in ways that diminish its presence.

Solace is not meant to be an answer, but an invitation, through the door of pain and difficulty, to the depth of suffering and simultaneous beauty in the world that the strategic mind by itself cannot grasp nor make sense of.

Those who will not slip beneath the still surface on the well of grief, turning down through its black water to the place we cannot breathe, will never know the source from which we drink, the secret water, cold and clear, nor find in the darkness glimmering, the small round coins, thrown by those who wished for something else.

To go beyond our normal identities and become closer than close is to lose our sense of self in temporary joy: a form of arrival that only opens us to deeper forms of intimacy that blur our fixed, controlling, surface identity.

His level of experience is nearly transcendent.

The shallow of the highs and the depths of the lows

Love is the spiritualisation of the sea on which a friendship set sail

You can never read too much into anything

Go down deep enough into anything and you will find mathematics.

He paused again, letting his words settle like stones falling to the bottom of a pond.

We are all a volume on a shelf of a library, a story unto ourselves, never possibly described with one word or even very accurately with thousands. A person is never as quiet or unrestrained as they seem, or as bad or good, as vulnerable or as strong, as sweet or as fiesty; we are thickly layered, page upon lying page, behind simple covers. And love - it is not the book itself, but the binding. It can rip us apart or hold us together.

An untold story has a weight that can submerge you, sure as a sunken ship at the bottom of the ocean.

Maybe a person's world can grow bigger in all the right ways, not too wide that it becomes shallow, just large enough to preserve its depth.

A person is never as quiet or unrestrained as they seem, or as bad or good, as vulnerable or as strong, as sweet or as feisty; we are thickly layered, page lying upon page, behind simple covers. And love - it is not the book itself, but the binding. It can rip us apart or hold us together...Layers, by their nature, are fragile things.

We are thickly layered, page lying upon page, behind simple covers. And love - it is not the book itself, but the binding.

But then there are the van Goghs and Hemingways and Mozarts, those who feel a hunger so deep, so far down, that greatness lies there too, nestled somewhere within it. Those who get their inner voice and direction from the cool mysterious insides of the moon, and not from the earth like the rest of us.

Nice can have an edge.