Best 140 quotes in «tattoo quotes» category

There are some ideals to be tattooed to your soul.

The tide has pulled the storm from my soul, again.

The seed of our love will always cube within the wonder of infinite.

The tips of her fingers started to tingle as did the tattoo of the small purple flower that decorated her chest. That was the last sign she needed. Whatever force that was looking out for her, it was sending her a warning.

This wasn't the work of a cheap carnival tattoo man with three colors and whiskey on his breath. This was the accomplishment of a living genius, vibrant, clear, and beautiful.

To love is to soar in the wild unexpectedly.

Use love as the only instrument to question the world around you.

To whomever swapped my tattoo cream for toothpaste........ well played.

What are you looking to do?” Aaron asked as we walked into his workroom. “Nothing too complicated,” I said, displaying my wrist. “I want Bailey’s name on my wrist.” Aaron exhaled slowly. “Are you sure? The Johanssons don’t play when it comes having their women’s names on their wrists. It’s forever shit for them. That’s how I knew Cooper wasn’t fucking around with Farah.” “Bailey’s mine, but I can’t find a way to make her truly believe. When I try, it feels like just words. I know her name on my wrist is a word too, but maybe it’s one that she’ll know means forever.” “Fair enough. Just know once the Johansson boys see her name on your wrist, it’s like you’ve gotten on one knee and proposed. Trust me that Bailey and Jodi will be talking wedding dates behind your back. If you lose interest or cheat or break it off, it’s not going down softly. The shit will hit the fan.” “The only way Bailey gets rid of me is to put me in the ground.

We’re only instruments of love, flowing through heaps of pain hoping one day we’d hatch a passion of our own.

With all honesty, somewhere between the hello and the dreams I saw you in I fell in love.

What is coming is better than what is gone - Suddenly Dirty Book 1 The Dirty Texas Series.

When I got home, I took a bat and examined my back in detail in the bathroom mirror. This tattoo would be for myself and no-one else. It wasn’t just because I was about to end my relationship with Iro, it was because I wanted to make some serious changes deep down inside me… My torso - my back and front – and my shoulders, breasts, and upper arms were decorated with a vibrantly coloured work of art. I knew it had been the right thing to do… When I looked at that beautifully crafted tattoo, I was filled with a sense of total contentment I had never experienced before. I felt as though I had been set free.

What I wasn’t expecting was the euphoria once my body began releasing endorphins. The mixture of pain and pleasure was ecstasy. Getting my tattoo introduced me to secret, dark pleasures. I would always be a marked prisoner, but I was a liberated soul.

Without thinking, I step a little closer, reaching out slowly to slide a fingertip over the largest petal of the lily tattoo on her lower back. Instantly a vibration moves up my arm, and I swear the mark on my hand burns against my skin. I clench my fingers into a fist, but I don’t step away. “Did you feel that?” she asks. I shake my head. “I don’t know.” I feel so much, always so much. She takes my hand and brings it to her side again, resting it on the violets. I look at the purple flowers between my fingers and feel the heat of her skin, the way it slides beneath my palm, soft as silk. And that vibration moves through my arm again. Her breath quickens. I find myself moving closer as her blue eyes go wide with wonder. My heart stutters and my chest aches with some unknown need. “Are you doing this?” I ask. Is she making me want this? “No,” she breathes. The smell of her turns to spice, sharp and warm, and I know I’m sensing her now, even through the block in the house. We stand like that for an eternity, still as statues on the outside, but inside I’m running, running toward a place I’ve never been. I should be terrified. But all I feel is strength. Rightness. And then Kara moves, her hands skimming up my chest, testing the boundaries. Her palms slide to my shoulders, her fingers tracing the line of the muscles in my arms, down to my waist. She grips my shirt, stretching it a little, waiting for me to tell her to stop. But I watch her lift it, let her pull it up, raising my arms, and I even take the last of it off myself, dropping it to the floor. We breathe, staring at each other. The vibrations move between us. My left arm buzzes with them. I think she’s doing it. Whatever’s happening, it’s her. I reach up and brush my marked knuckles across her cheek, amazed at the feel of her, the way her eyes seem to see everything, the way she pulls me into her. I can’t seem to remember why I shouldn’t kiss her. And kiss her. And . . . I kiss her, taking her face in both hands, skimming my thumb over her jaw as she leans into the touch, reaching out to curl her fingers around the back of my neck. I have to remind myself to breathe. I need more of her. The emotions roll over me in a rush, a tangle of sensation and movement, heat and sugar and heady aromas. I grip her tighter. Her nails dig into my shoulders. My hands slide down her spine. The kiss deepens, goes on forever, until I can barely see sense. I explore her shape, the feel of her ribs, the textures and taste of her skin on my tongue as I kiss her neck, her shoulders, her chest. As I draw trembling gasps from her lips, she grips me so hard it hurts. Our bodies mesh. Our breath mingles in frenzied desperation. Nothing else exists except her. Her warmth. Her spice. Her.

Wollen Sie meinen Hintern sehen? Ich hab dieses berühmte Bild von Michelangelo draufstechen lassen, wo Gott Adam erschafft. Wenn ich den Arsch zusammenkneife, dann berühren sich ihre Zeigefinger.

All is fair in love and war and Parliamentary procedure.

You do know, right, that between the no- longer & the still- to-come you are being continually tattooed, inked with the skulls of everyone you’ve ever loved—the you & the you & the you & the you—you don’t sit in a chair, thumb through a binder, pick a design, it simply happens each time you bring your fingers to your face to inhale him back into you . . . tiny skulls, some of us are covered. You, love, could simply tattoo an open door, light pouring in from somewhere outside, you could make your body a door so it appears you (let her fill you) are made of light.

You don’t choose your tattoo design, your tattoo chooses you!

You get a tattoo like this and a ’do like this, and wear a shirt where the tattoo shows, and you walk into a room of people and feel the animosity, the disapproval, the how-dare-you. You can feel it coming off them like heat off a stove. And the thing I want to ask them is, how have I deserved this, what have I done that so offends you? I have not asked you to cut your hair this way. I have not asked you what you thought of it, or to approve it. So why do you feel this way towards me? If you can’t get past my 'too—my tattoo—and my 'do—the way I got my hair cut—it’s only because you have decided there are certain things that can be done with hair and certain things that cannot be done with hair. And certain of them are right and proper and decent, and the rest indicate a warped, degenerate nature; therefore I am warped and degenerate. 'Cause I got my hair cut a different way, man? You gonna really live your life like that? What’s wrong with you?

You'll have to excuse Zo's manners. She was raised by a group of indigenous swamp wallabies and is at times uncomfortable conversing with civilized humans." "Look, it's like this-" Zo started to say, but then she interrupted herself. "Swamp wallabies?

Your greatest dreams will always slumber within the vicious depths of fear.

You're a dumb shit. There's a million first girls for a million different first things. There's the first girl you slow-dance with, and the first girl you go to bed with. There's the first girl to give you a kiss, and then the first one you take home to mama." His amber eyes lit up with humor. "There's the first girl you fight with and the first girl you fight for. There's also the first girl you have to let go of. There's the first girl you love, obviously, and the first girl to break your heart. There's always a first girl, Rowdy, but there is also the girl that is going to come after her until you get to the last girl. The last girl is the one that really matters.

I love tattoos. And mine symbolise who I really am. I have a Samurai on my left arm. At a subconscious level, I connect to this warrior and model myself on his discipline, skills and honour. There is also a tribal tattoo and a Chinese symbol of faith. I have seen a lot of people getting tattoos just because it's a trend.

Don't let these tattoos fool you. I'm straight edge. I'm a man of great discipline; I don't drink, I don't smoke, I don't do drugs... my addiction is wrestling - my obsession is competition. Discipline. My name is C...M...Punk.

For every dark night, there is a brighter day.

Good work ain't cheap, cheap work ain't good.

As for the primitive, I hark back to it because we are still very primitive. How many thousands of years of culture, think you, have rubbed and polished at our raw edges? One probably; at the best, no more than two. And that takes us back to screaming savagery, when, gross of body and deed, we drank blood from the skulls of our enemies, and hailed as highest paradise the orgies and carnage of Valhalla.

Becoming a vampire is forever. You don't get to change your mind about it later. For me, I think that's one of the big drawbacks with anything that's permanent. How do you know how you're going to feel in five years or 10 years? Even with a tattoo.

Bikers, in general, have just been so attractive to people. Photographers would follow them because there's this weird warrior gravitas that comes with it. The bikes are loud, they have tattoos, they have artwork that they all wear on their jackets.

Everyone asks about how I'll feel about the tattoos and scars in thirty years. I always say: "I'll like them." I've always loved damaged monuments, in architecture and in humans.

I feel like if I were to get another tattoo, it would probably be those two words. Just stubborn, stubborn, stubborn gladness.

I have a lot of tattoos. My first tattoo I had when I was a teenager was just a little heart. I am very friendly with a great artist, Scott Campbell, and I started going to him to get tattoos. I'm very spontaneous about what I get.

I'm a big fan of zombies, and I have a zombie tattoo on my leg.

I'm a tearless clown. If I were to get a tattoo, it would be the two masks, and they would be both smiling.

I'm waiting to get old - I think old guys with tattoos look good.

I removed the window [tattoo] because, while I used to spend all my time looking out through windows wishing to be outside, I now live there all the time.

I never fancied myself having a prejudice towards people with tattoos. I personally don't have any and I don't think that I do, but I do see that people treat me differently with tattoos. People get out of my way.

I think if you're gonna get a tattoo, just get one: the words, 'I'm dumb.' That's it. That way in 10 years, when you go, 'Why did I get this?,' you can be like, 'Oh, I'm dumb!'

I think if you're going to get a tattoo, it should be significant, especially when it's all the way up your arms and your body.

I've always wanted to have tattoos. I grew up around people who were very tattooed. It's a self-expression thing; it's also helped me claim my body as my own. So I think it's really positive. It's really joyful.

I think when tattoos are new and colorful, they look bad. But they look better the older and more bleached out they become.

I used to have a sister, but I never got to meet her because she died after two days, I think. So if I got a tattoo, it would probably have to be something to do with my sister.

Maybe. Although I doubt most Shadowhunters get a tattoo of Donatello from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on their left shoulder.

I've got nothing against tattoos. I don't have one myself. If I did, it would be right there next to my watch. It would say "Your wife's birthday is August 2nd, your anniversary is September 18th, don't let Ron White drive your car again.

I want to get a tattoo of the word irony, only misspelled.

My tattoo is a phoenix. I got the first when I was 16. I hid it for years.

Most Shadowhunters get their first Marks at twelve. It must have been in your blood.” “Maybe. Although I doubt most Shadowhunters get a tattoo of Donatello from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on their left shoulder.” Jace looked baffled. “You wanted a turtle on your shoulder?” -Jace & Clary, pg. 314-

My muse can take the form of a landscape, an era, a style of writing, a piece of music, and, perhaps that which I find strangest of all for a muse, a human female. Of course, she's also adept at taking the form of toothless old Japanese men or young English lads with tattoos.

Now the tattoos," Zia announced. "Brilliant!" I said. "On your tongue," she added. "Excuse me?