Ah, quirks and tells. Those little things that make a character real, both to the writer and the reader.
Quirks are a person's weird, unusual habits (don't tell me you don't have any). One of my characters likes to invent and build; he uses his bedroom walls like a whiteboard, drawing schematics and equations on them with a Sharpie (don't try this at home). When he's done with a set of diagrams, he whitewashes over them with paint. When he doesn't have a notebook to hand, he takes notes on his jeans.
Giving a character a quirk or two makes them memorable to a reader; it can also create tension or inspire scenes. When my character starts writing chemical formulas instead of mechanical schematics on the wall, is it just because he's trying out a new science or a sign he's starting to experiment with his crazy uncle's voodoo medicine even though it's nearly killed him before?
Tells are like quirks that give something away. We talk about tells in poker: Maybe a player always sneezes when she has a good hand. My father-in-law whistles thematically (and unconsciously), so when someone tells a story about a house that burned down, about 10 minutes later you'll hear him whistling that song Eternal Flame by the Bangles. This could be pretty inconvenient for an arsonist.
You don't want to overdo it; quirks and tells are a spice. Like cumin in taco meat. Ooo, tacos... Gotta go.
Many baseball pitchers have little tells that indicate whether they are going to pitch to the plate, or try to take a baserunner out. One pitcher always kept his index finger out of his glove. If he was going to throw to a base, he always unconsciously tapped that index finger against the glove a couple times: never for a pitch to the plate. Some went their entire careers never figuring out what they were doing that was tipping off certain baserunners.
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