I do feel more towards certain characters who have depth and

Hearken, seekers of art and insight, and listen to the words of Allison Scagliotti, whose craft is to breathe life into the imagined and whose wisdom speaks of authenticity: “I do feel more towards certain characters who have depth and intelligence.” In this simple yet profound statement lies the essence of human connection — the magnetic pull we feel toward those who think deeply, act meaningfully, and carry within them the complexity of truth. For in every era, from the poets of old to the actors of today, the soul yearns not for surfaces, but for substance.

To speak of characters with depth and intelligence is to speak of those who mirror the human condition in all its light and shadow. They are the ones who think before they act, who question rather than merely follow, who suffer, love, and evolve. These are not hollow figures molded for spectacle; they are living reflections of our inner battles — the doubts, the desires, the fragile hopes that define what it means to be human. Scagliotti, as an artist, feels drawn to such figures because in embodying them, she does not merely perform — she communes with truth.

In the ancient traditions of drama, from the theaters of Athens to the courts of Shakespeare, the greatest roles have always demanded depth and intelligence. Consider Antigone, who defied the laws of man to uphold the higher law of conscience, or Hamlet, whose endless questioning of existence made him immortal. These are characters of intellect and struggle, whose words and choices still stir the hearts of generations. Scagliotti’s sentiment echoes this lineage, reminding us that true artistry is not born from ease, but from understanding — from daring to explore the labyrinths of the mind and spirit.

Even beyond the stage, this truth holds. The people who move the world — thinkers, inventors, visionaries — are those of depth, those who gaze beyond appearances to the patterns beneath. Consider Marie Curie, who devoted her life to discovery not for fame, but for the advancement of knowledge. Her story, like those of profound fictional characters, is one of curiosity, sacrifice, and courage. She possessed not only intelligence but the kind of depth that transforms intellect into wisdom. Thus, Scagliotti’s attraction to such qualities reflects a universal reverence for the complexity that gives life its beauty.

But this insight also serves as a mirror to the soul. We, too, are characters in the great play of existence. To live well, we must cultivate the same qualities that inspire us in others — to think deeply, to seek understanding, and to grow through experience. The world will always tempt us with surfaces, with simplicity and noise, but the heart finds its home in depth. Intelligence without empathy is hollow, but when joined with self-awareness, it becomes luminous — a light by which others find their way.

The lesson here is both artistic and spiritual: surround yourself with stories, people, and ideas that challenge you to expand. Seek meaning, not just entertainment. Let your relationships, your work, and your dreams be infused with thoughtfulness and intention. For it is in such depth that joy endures and creativity blossoms. As Scagliotti reminds us, to feel drawn to intelligence and depth is to feel drawn to truth itself.

Practical wisdom follows. Read the works that make you think, not merely agree. Listen to those whose experiences differ from your own. Reflect upon your choices with honesty, and do not fear complexity. The simple path may be comfortable, but it is the difficult path — the path of understanding — that enriches the soul.

Finally, let Allison Scagliotti’s words serve as a quiet anthem for the artist and the seeker alike. In a world quick to value spectacle over substance, choose depth. In a culture that prizes cleverness, choose wisdom. For the characters — and the people — who endure in memory are those who possess both heart and mind, both vision and vulnerability. They remind us that intelligence is not cold, and depth is not dark; together, they are the pulse of humanity itself.