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Deep Quotes

Browse 911 quotes about Deep.

Deep Quotes

“Isn’t it amazing, amazing, amazing that something so specific can be so resonant? These are the filaments, filaments, filaments from that Walt Whitman poem. It makes me think that the thoughts that I have in my head that make me feel the most lonely because I don’t think anyone else thinks them, are also the thoughts that have the most potential that make me feel connected. I just have to get them out some how gossamer thread.”

HumorDeep
Author:Ze Frank
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“This is one hell of a suicide note. THE SUICIDE SOLILOQUY- Yes! I've resolved the deed to do, And this the place to do it; The heart I'll rush a dagger through Though I in hell should rue it! Sweet steel! Come forth from out your sheath, And glist'ning, speak your powers; Rip up the organs of my breath, And draw my blood in showers! I strike! It quivers in that heart Which drives me to this end; I draw and kiss the bloody dart, My last-my only friend!”

PowerfulDeep
Book:Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter
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“When sonneteering Wordsworth re-creates the landing of Mary Queen of Scots at the mouth of the Derwent - Dear to the Loves, and to the Graces vowed, The Queen drew back the wimple that she wore - he unveils nothing less than a canvas by Rubens, baroque master of baroque masters; this is the landing of a TRAGIC Marie de Medicis. Yet so receptive was the English ear to sheep-Wordsworth's perverse 'Enough of Art' that it is not any of these works of supreme art, these master-sonnets of English literature, that are sold as picture postcards, with the text in lieu of the view, in the Lake District! it is those eternally, infernally sprightly Daffodils.”

CriticismDeepClassicsWordsworthHalf Witted Sheep
Book:Fifty Works of English Literature We Could Do Without
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“I wanted to turn toward someone full of testosterone and beg him to be strong for us. To gather up all the stuff God gave him for a time such as this and protect us. I couldn’t protect her, or me. And I knew it. Knowing it irked me, quietly. It was such an inconvenient time for my conscience to remind me of reality. Why couldn’t it just let me keep eating dust and calling it food? These clothes, these women, these dreams, this voice, her submission to it, this heavy walk that made my mother cringe, weren’t they the truth? Didn’t they mean I had successfully transformed? Couldn’t I be what I wanted to be? Between me and God, in the secrecy of my conscience, my being a woman felt inescapably real. As much as I’d believed I could, when in the presence of a man made to be one, I knew there was a natural distinction between the two of us that even the heaviness of my voice couldn’t undo. In the other room, his voice still shook the walls. The louder it got, the more I remembered my first name.”

RealGayLgbtDeepHomosexualityLesbian
Book:Gay Girl, Good God: The Story of Who I Was and Who God Has Always Been
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“I think it takes an exceptional person to fight for someone they should hate. I love that you’re different, and I admire your uniqueness.” He paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “I don’t really give a shit what my memories bring back. I don’t give a shit what responsibilities await me or even who waits for me. I don’t want anything to do with that life if you’re not in it. You are my friend, and whatever we face, we will face it together —memories or no memories.” Ash ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you, damn it. And for the love of all things, you are fucking gorgeous. I thought it from the moment I laid eyes on you in that bar in the human world.”

EmotionalDeepHeartwarming
Book:Fated
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“In life, humans are propelled by uncertainty—by the ignorance and blindness of what lies ahead. We cling to the hope that our paths will eventually intersect with the dreams we dare to dream, or perhaps only a few of them. Yet, we often overlook the sobering truth that none of our dreams may come true. The likelihood of our dreams being fulfilled is no greater than the likelihood of them remaining elusive. Of course, this notion only holds if we disregard the countless variables that shape our journey: our work, our passion, our time, and countless other forces we exert upon the world. But if we were to abandon these factors, what would remain? Would a life lived without purpose, without the striving, carry us higher than the dreams we had for ourselves? Perhaps our dreams are not the stars we aim for, but rather limits we impose upon our potential, boundaries we dare not cross. Yet we can never truly know, for one cannot live without the presence of purpose. It is purpose that grants meaning, that enables us to sleep at night and rise each morning. Purpose is the very embodiment of the human journey. It is the compass that guides us through triumphs and trials, that molds our identities, and fosters a fleeting sense of fulfillment. And yet, this fulfillment is ephemeral, as transient as everything else in this world. Our purpose may, in time, lead us astray—toward a misperception of ourselves, a false image of reality, or a gnawing sense of emptiness. Ultimately, it is not purpose or dreams that drive us. It is uncertainty. It is the unpredictable, the unknown, that propels us forward. We live not to reach a particular destination, but to witness the unfolding of what may come. It is, perhaps, the greatest absurdity: that meaning can be found only where no meaning lies.”

PhilosophyCertainDeepThinkUncertain
Author:Raed
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“I remembered the moment I read a novel for the first time. The texture of the soft paper touching my fingertips. The black letters blooming on a white field. The texture of the page I folded with my hands. 「 It isn't important to read the letters. The important thing is where the letters lead you. 」 My mother, who loved books, used to say this. At least for me, it wasn't just a saying. The gaps in the black print. My own little snow garden lay in between the letters. This space, which was too small for someone to go into, was a perfect place for a child who liked to hide. Every time a pleasant sound was heard, the letters stacked up like snow. In it, I became a hero. I had adventures, loved and dreamt. Thus, I read, read and read again. I remembered the first time I was about to finish a book. It was like being deprived of the world. The protagonist and supporting characters walked off with the sentence 'They lived happily ever after' and I was left alone at the end of the story. In my vanity and sense of betrayal, my young self struggled because I couldn't stand the loneliness. 「 This… is the end? 」 Perhaps it was similar to learning about death. For the first time, I realized that something was finite. My mother said, 「This is the end. 」 「There isn't anything that comes next? 」 「There is no 'next'. 」 My mother was cold as she told me a brutal truth. 「 However, just because it is the end doesn't mean you've seen the whole story. 」 Then she gave me wise advice. 「 Yes? 」 「 Read it again. 」 Reread the finished story. As a child, I didn't know what this meant. 「 Why read a story I already know? 」 「 If you read it again, it will definitely be a different story. 」 「…I don't want to. 」 I was stubborn because I was afraid of feeling the deprivation again. Then my mother said, 「 Do you want to read it together? 」 Thus, I learnt to read again. At first, I only saw the main character's position. The second reading showed the position of the supporting character and the third reading showed the position of the enemy. The story changed every time I read it. The story was over but it wasn't over. The story wouldn't end unless the reader gave up on the story. I still thought about it often. What if my mother had said something else at that time? All fiction was fake and it would just be a loss of my life if I read it. Would I then have a lot of friends? What if I didn't study hard, wasn't bullied and didn't run away from the reality given to me? Sparks appeared in the air and the flowing memories were broken. 「 Kim Dokja. You look relaxed. 」”

InspirationalDeepOrvSingshongSingnsongShing ShongShingshongSing Shong
Author:Sing shong (싱숑)
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