We have now sunk to a depth at which restatement of the obvious is the first duty of intelligent men.

A little philosophy inclineth man’s mind to atheism, but depth in philosophy bringeth men’s minds about to religion.

Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.

We have created characters and animated them in the dimension of depth, revealing through them to our perturbed world that the things we have in common far outnumber and outweigh those that divide us.

Before I started school striking I had no energy, no friends and I didn’t speak to anyone. I just sat alone at home, with an eating disorder. All of that is gone now, since I have found a meaning, in a world that sometimes seems shallow and meaningless to so many people.

I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep.

Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.

Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

Seriousness is the only refuge of the shallow.

Silence is as deep as eternity, speech a shallow as time.

I’m going to save my public voice largely for the issues where I have some depth.

Vanity is but the surface.

Not when truth is dirty, but when it is shallow, does the enlightened man dislike to wade into its waters.

Narrative is linear, but action has breadth and depth as well as height and is solid.

The Indian Summer of life should be a little sunny and a little sad, like the season, and infinite in wealth and depth of tone, but never hustled.

It is not when truth is dirty, but when it is shallow, that the lover of knowledge is reluctant to step into its waters.

The moment you have in your heart this extraordinary thing called love and feel the depth, the delight, the ecstasy of it, you will discover that for you the world is transformed.

And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

There is nothing more tragic than to find an individual bogged down in the length of life, devoid of breadth.

The job of the artist is always to deepen the mystery.

There is a wide, yawning black infinity. In every direction, the extension is endless; the sensation of depth is overwhelming. And the darkness is immortal. Where light exists, it is pure, blazing, fierce; but light exists almost nowhere, and the blackness itself is also pure and blazing and fierce.

Women are considered deep – why? Because one can never discover any bottom to them. Women are not even shallow.

It’s always wonderful to get to know women, with the mystery and the joy and the depth. If you can make a woman laugh, you’re seeing the most beautiful thing on God’s Earth.

It is not length of life, but depth of life.

I think the depth, what children can handle and what they’re interested in, is much deeper than I think what people assume. I think it’s why sometimes we make things too simple for them.