I love mirrors. They let one pass through the surface of things.
Our apparitions, the things you know us by, are simply childish. Beneath it is all dark, it is all spreading, it is unfathomably deep; but now and again we rise to the surface and that is what you see us by.
There's no love more intense than the love we have for our kids - and where there is intense love, there is also intense fear lurking beneath the surface.
Man is only man at the surface. Remove the skin, dissect, and immediately you come to machinery.
Photos have no narrative content. They only describe light on surface.
On the surface, humans appear to hate conflict, but in reality, they seek it.
Be like a duck. Calm on the surface, but always paddling like the dickens underneath.
The fact that we live at the bottom of a deep gravity well, on the surface of a gas covered planet going around a nuclear fireball 90 million miles away and think this to be normal is obviously some indication of how skewed our perspective tends to be.
Humanity has only scratched the surface of its real potential.
There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth.
From birth, man carries the weight of gravity on his shoulders. He is bolted to earth. But man has only to sink beneath the surface and he is free.
Man has only to sink beneath the surface and he is free.
If there are ripples on the surface of a lake, we cannot see the depth. Similarly unless the mind is restful, we cannot experience the harmony and union within us.
We with our lives are like islands in the sea... The islands also hang together through the ocean's bottom.
An enlightened entertainer, via story, casts her line into the souls of others, hooks their heart, and pulls their greater potential to the surface.
The truth is always an abyss. One must — as in a swimming pool — dare to dive from the quivering springboard of trivial everyday experience and sink into the depths, in order to later rise again — laughing and fighting for breath — to the now doubly illuminated surface of things.
Confession of errors is like a broom which sweeps away the dirt and leaves the surface brighter and clearer. I feel stronger for confession.
After about 20 years of marriage, I'm finally starting to scratch the surface of what women want. And I think the answer lies somewhere between conversation and chocolate.
Through pride we are ever deceiving ourselves. But deep down below the surface of the average conscience a still, small voice says to us, something is out of tune.
If you want to know all about Andy Warhol, just look at the surface of my paintings and films and me, and there I am. There's nothing behind it.
It's the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.
We who in engage in nonviolent direct action are not the creators of tension. We merely bring to the surface the hidden tension that is already alive.
The attributes of God, though intelligible to us on their surface yet, for the very reason that they are infinite, transcend our comprehension, when they are dwelt upon, when they are followed out, and can only be received by faith.
She sowed in my mind the idea that reality is not only what we see on the surface; it has a magical dimension as well and, if we so desire, it is legitimate to enhance it and color it to make our journey through life less trying.
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