Best 140 quotes in «tattoo quotes» category

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.

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

No one wants to see a tattoo on a stomach.

Now I meet people with full-color Wolverine tattoos on their backs. Thank God I did okay, because I think if I hadn't, they'd spit on me in the street.

Take care of the sense and the sounds will take care of themselves.

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

Tattoo. What a loaded word it is, rife with associations to goons, goofs, bikers, tribal warriors, carnival artists, drunken sailors and floozies.

People like to come up to me and tell me that I’ve got nice ink. Except these tattoos aren’t just decorations. They are declarations. Every tattoo I have tells its own story about who I am. Drug-free. Honor. And a war against the system.

Tattoos are so widespread, so ugly and so very, very permanent. You can, in theory, have them removed - but a large chunk of your living flesh will go with it.

The greatest thing you'll ever learn Is just to love and be loved in return.

The cafe was called Tattoos. The fella who owned it didn't have any tattoos... but we never saw his wife.

You have to have your face in the food. These days people think a tattoo and a bottle of Sriracha equals success.

We all originally came from the woods! it is hard to eradicate from any of us the old taste for the tattoo and the war-paint; and the moment that money gets into our pockets, it somehow or another breaks out in ornaments on our person, without always giving refinement to our manners.

We are all tattooed in our cradles with the beliefs of our tribe; the record may seem superficial, but it is indelible.

There comes a time in a man's life when to get where he has to go - if there are no doors or windows he walks through a wall.

Across the moon-pale scar that marred my forearm, Darian danced in dark ink, the gracefully curving edges of his name unravelling into a spill of colour as joyful and haphazard as the promise of stars.

Your tattoos are supposed to be some connection to your personality. That's a lot more important than going in and just picking one off a wall. I've never understood why people get butterflies tattooed on their bottoms or whatever. That's really weird.

A colorful body with fabrics, tattoos and jewelry is attractive, but a colorful heart with love, truth and faith is beautiful.

A masculine man wears his attitude. He is as much comfortable wearing three piece suits as he is in wearing ripped torn jeans. He does not chase love, women, or power. He gets them anyhow. He would never ever give up his masculinity for anyone or anything in his life. He lives by his ideals that are tattooed to his soul. He does not believe in leading a comfortable life with luxuries. Rather he works hard to achieve his goals in life. He lives raw. He wanders often. And his life story becomes a testament to his masculinity!

After a few seconds of scraping, I realize what he has isn’t a trail, it’s a whole forest! Ack! Weren’t all men supposed to shave their chest and stuff nowadays? Whatever happened to having fuzz-free Hollywood heroes as role models? At least my embarrassment is completely foregone by the irritation at his lack of upkeep. The only thing distracting me now is that heady mix of musk, shaving cream and a distinctly…male scent. And God knows that is one seriously jeopardizing distraction. Especially with a whizzing needle in one’s hand.

A mind wanders, thoughts flee and memories fade. But tattoos, tattoos are forever. And if it is true to say that we carry ourselves with when we travel - then the body may very well be a beautiful canvas for the timeless lessons we learn and will learn when we travel.

A quote is just a tattoo on the tongue.

Being open-minded dramatically reduces one’s chances of getting a permanent tattoo.

Broken hearts, you can run, you can hide and perhaps the earth is big enough to believe you’re safe. So maybe for a moment you have escaped but hear me, hear me well. Love will find you and it will leave nothing behind.

Being transgender and in need of surgery is a bit like wearing a tattoo advertising something that you have no intention of selling, and constantly being asked to represent what you are not selling.

Cal opens a drawer, pulls out a sketch pad and charcoal and sets them down on a drafting table. 'Let's draw.' I smile the way I did as a child when receiving a fresh box of 64 Crayola crayons, unabashedly showing all my teeth. I remember how much I used to love to draw, and I wonder why I don't do it anymore. I write, I guess. I draw with words, but when I see Cal's pad and charcoal, I'm overwhelmed with the feeling that it's not the same. I use my words, my artist's charcoal to describe what I'm thinking. He draws with an imperfect fluidity, pausing only occasionally to shade the drawing with his thumb or brush the paper with the back of his hands. He listens and nods and doesn't interrupt. And when I'm done speaking he looks at the drawing, and his eyes get really big. Slowly, he turns his pad around for me to see. My heart stops and then starts. 'Yes,' I say. It's perfect. Alive with added detail and beautiful Inuit soulfulness I couldn't have even imagined sitting outside in my car. My fear is gone. There's a tingling in my skin, like I can feel the thousand needle pricks to come. I am alive.

Even though being a good speller has lost its ranking in school, we can hope there is one group of artisans that still finds spelling important…the tattoo artist

Come on, I want to add. But doing so would be like tattooing “I am up to no good” on my forehead.

Es (Tattoo) ist ein Hilferuf einer jungen Generation, gefangen in der Kurzlebigkeit unserer heutigen Welt. Man muss ihn nur verstehen und anhören.

Excuse me, I feel interrupted and I think I've overdose from the idea of loving you.

Everything I have become, everything I will ever accomplish cannot compare to my most impressive feat: I have loved you fiercely and assiduously with the very marrow inside my bones. So that when I die, they can crack them to find you there. So that when I die, they can open me up and see your name tattooed on the wall of my heart. So that when I die, my epitaph will neither commemorate who I was nor what I did, but will read: “She loved. And loved. And loved.” And so, I smile now, because that is no small thing.

Every broken piece of me fell on every broken piece of you and when I took the missing parts, like the emptiness of me I saw the emptiness of you and I poured my half upon you to fill you whole. I risked it all just to dream you complete and catch you one day free in the wild.

He wore his fear on his skin for everyone to see.

Hailey winked, then came over to Callie. "Sit down and tell me what you need." "A man?" she blurted, then shut her eyes. Damn. Totally not what she meant to say. Hailey threw her head back and laughed. "It's about time you said that, although I don't know if you need a man so much as to get laid." The other customer at the counter sputtered his coffee and Callie laughed, turning to him. "She meant that I don't need a man in my life, just an orgasm. I'm not a lesbian. Well, I made out with a couple girls when I was, like, nineteen, but that was just experimenting. It's good to make sure you're sure about what you want, you know?" The man blushed hard, put money on the counter, and scurried away.

Her uneasy gaze skittered along the length of his arms, which were exposed by his rolled-up shirtsleeves... and stopped at the astonishing sight of a design that had been inked onto his right forearm. It was a small black horse with wings. Noticing her mesmerized stare, Rohan lowered his arm to give her a better view. "An Irish symbol," he murmured. "A nightmare horse, called a pooka." The absurd-sounding word brought a faint smile to Daisy's lips. "Does it wash off?" she asked hesitantly. He shook his head, his lashes half lowering over his remarkable eyes. "Is a pooka like the Pegasus of the Greek myths?" Daisy asked, flattening herself as close to the wall as possible. Rohan glanced down her body, taking a kind of leisurely inventory that no man ever had before. "No. He's far more dangerous. He has eyes of yellow fire, a stride that clears mountains, and he speaks in a human voice as deep as a cave. At midnight, he may stop in front of your house and call out your name if he wants to take you for a ride. If you go with him, he'll fly you across earth and oceans... and if you ever return, your life will never be the same.

How could I live above the water or breathe under it. How could I swim in darkness consumed in an ocean of you? Falling or flying towards you, losing or finding myself in you and beauty was never the word to catch all that you are. For now I know the means of the infinite and it all starts and ends with you.

If I decide to get a tattoo, it'll be a map of where I live on my chest in case I ever get amnesia.

If you die, I’m dating your corpse.” “I’m being cremated.” “I’ll date your urn.” “My urn already has a boyfriend. They’re really serious too.” Cooper laughed against my neck then wrapped himself around my waist, swallowing me up with his warm embrace. “My pop has my mom’s name on his wrist,” Cooper whispered against my cheek. “Underneath, he has my name along with the lesser crap kids he got stuck with.” “I’m in college,” I blurted out. “Yeah, I remember you mentioning that.” “Tattoos. Kids. Dating my corpse. Seems serious.” Leaning back, Cooper adjusted me so I rested against his chest. “I always planned to settle down when I was an old fart like my pop. Meet some cute piece of jailbait and make a few bad seeds plus one decent kid I could trust with the family business. Instead, here I am not even done with college with a tattoo of my girl’s name on my wrist.” “You could change your mind.” “I won’t. You’re a keeper.” “I could change my mind,” I said, wiggling my brows at him. “Who would you replace me with? Seriously, look around and see what shit pickings you have to choose from. I’m the best you’ll ever do, baby.” “You are pretty sexy. Tall too. Yeah, I can see keeping you around.” A grinning Cooper glanced at Aaron. “I’m so whipped.” “It’s pretty nauseating, yeah.

I had never seen an incomplete tattoo before and it seemed to me that it served as evidence that his life, like mine, was abruptly halted mid-way through.

Hey, check this out," Eric said, pulling up his sleeve and holding out his arm. The name Ariel was written out- in mer runes! It circled his arm like the sort of band a warrior would wear, and glistened with oil he had rubbed into it. "Eric! What did you do?" "What? Don't you like it?" "I love it, but..." "Until we have wedding rings, I thought it was a nice permanent commitment. Argent did it! Sebastian helped me with the letters." "It... must have hurt." "You have no idea. That's how much I love you," he said, kissing her on the forehead.

I kept loving and loving and loving. Every waking hour, I marveled on how these moments would make made me feel. I wanted to love the world and be the change it so deliciously craved.

In finnish: "Ajan myötä lohikäärme ja kirin loivat rupensa ja veivät muodonmuutoksensa loppuun asti, ja niin niistä tuli osa ruumistani. Nyt ne olivat oikeasti omaisuuttani - sana, jota käytin mielelläni ajatellessani niitä. Mutta oli myös mahdollista, että niiden arvo alenisi uutuudenviehätyksen kadottua. Samaan tapaan saattaa omistaa upean mekon, joka saa olon tuntumaan mahtavalta. Mutta eipä aikaakaan, kun se on pelkkä vaatekappale muiden joukossa. Olin kai siinä mielessä ollut aina oikukas ja viskannut vaatteita kaapinperälle käytettyäni niitä vain pari, kolme kertaa. Näkemykseni avioliitosta on paljolti samanlainen. Näen sen tilanteena, jossa kaksi ihmistä yrittää omistaa toisensa. Tai vaikka ei olisikaan naimisissa, pojat yrittävät aina jotain tuonsuuntaista: mitä kauemmin heidän kanssaan on, sitä enemmän he yrittävät asteittain kasvattaa valtaansa toiseen ihmiseen.

No hay problema," Orlando agreed. "But you haven't said where?" His eyes grazed over the rumpled tux, Aiden not having thought about where the tattoo might go. Isabel had an answer. "His neck." "My neck?" "Tiene cojones," Orlando said slyly grinning. "Yes, your neck. It'll be your thing, you know, when you're famous--like an insigna. It's sexy and dangerous. Aidan's going to be a famous rock star, Orlando." Aidan admired her confidence. "From her lips ..." "I surely hope, mis amigos, because putting that thing on your neck does not say nine-to-fice employment.

I ride with my tattoo of three red hearts, intertwined with barbed wire, emblazoned across my lower back, two birthdates delicately etched above each heart. The dates remind me of the day my life changed for the better with each child's birth. The larger heart anchors the two smaller ones, albeit with barbed wire, but anchors them securely to each other - a reminder that a mother's relationship with her daughters is sometimes thorny and sometimes smooth. Regardless of the heartache, she stands securely in between as the anchor, her daughters' her most treasured glory.

His hands shift to my shoulders, and his fingers brush over the edge of my bandage. He pulls back with a puckered brow. “Are you hurt?” he asks. “No. It’s another tattoo. It’s healed, I just…wanted to keep it covered up.” “Can I see?” I nod, my throat tight. I pull my sleeve down and slip my shoulder out of it. He stares down at my shoulder for a second, and then runs his fingers over it. They rise and fall with my bones, which stick out farther than I’d like. When he touches me, I feel like everywhere his skin meets mine is changed by the connection. It sends a thrill through my stomach. Not just fear. Something else, too. A wanting. He peels the corner of the bandage away. His eyes roam over the symbol of Abnegation, and he smiles. “I have the same one,” he says, laughing. “On my back.” “Really? Can I see it?” He presses the bandage over the tattoo and pulls my shirt back over my shoulder. “Are you asking me to undress, Tris?” A nervous laugh gurgles from my throat. “Only…partially.

I arrived, I saw humans and I saw through their faces. Nothing ever changes but the light in their eyes. For I too have buried my demons today, without knowing what might remain beneath the face of tomorrow.

I don't know. I had to be something, didn't I?

I kill people with my tattoo machine.

Ill love you with every little bit of everything that has ever consumed me and I will forever love you and forever find you in every life time and so on. Until the stars die out and the universe leaps but even then, my love will remain.

I think i should get love inked on my skin. Maybe that's the only way i am destined to keep it.