Best 70 quotes in «tattoos quotes» category

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

We are all a little damaged, Bee. Some of us more than others.

We can look at our tattoos from cancer treatment as awful reminders of a ghastly time in our lives, or we can use them as reminders of what God brought us through.

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

When the pieces fell around him, he'd pick them up. It was what he was good at, after all. Restoring what was once lost, what could never be perfectly whole again.

Where did you get your tat?” “Aaron’s shop. You want to get a tat?” he asked, grinning as if this was hilarious. “I have one,” I said, rolling the ball into the gutter. “It’s not finished though.” “How come?” “My brother interrupted the tattoo and I never had the money to get it done again.” “No, I meant how come you’re such a bad bowler? Is it genetic?” he asked. “Like do you come from a long line of people who can’t make a ball roll in a straight line?” “You’re hilarious.” “I try, Pixie Dust.

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're going to get a present from me so you'll always remember our agreement." She gave him a crooked smile and climbed on to the bed and knelt between his legs. Bjurman had no idea what she intended to do, but he felt a sudden terror. Then he saw the needle in her hand. He flopped his head back and forth and tried to twist his body away until she put a knee on his crotch and pressed down in warning. "Lie rather still because this is the first time I've used this equipment.

Your basic-type jailhouse tatt is homemade with sewing needles from the jailhouse canteen and some blue ink from the cartridge of a fountain pen promoted from the breast pocket of an unaltert public defender, is why the jailhouse genre is always the same night-sky blue. The needle is dipped in the ink and jabbed as deep into the tattooee as it can be jabbed without making him recoil and fucking up your aim. Just a plain ultraminimal blue square like Gately's got on his right wrist takes half a day and hundreds of individual jabs. How come the lines are never quite straight and the color's never quite all the way solid is it's impossible to get all the individualized punctures down to the same uniform deepness in the, like, twitching flesh. This is why jailhouse tatts always look like they were done by sadistic children on rainy afternoons.

A stained and wrinkled lab coat, no doubt, hid an even worse choice of clothing. Rolled-up sleeves displayed beefy forearms covered in tattoos. Frank grimaced at Mario’s shameless immaturity. Cartoon tats?

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.

All the things I’ve done to my body, I’ve done out of love. Seriously. I’ve gotten ink to remind me of all sorts of places and memories, but at the core, everything I’ve had done has been my way of saying that this is my body. That I don’t want the body everybody else told me I should have.

As our body journeys through life, and life journeys on our body….life will leave marks on us too. From the creases of our wrinkles to the birthmarks on our bodies to the tattoos we decide to place.

Believe it or not, some of us have piercings and tattoos and dye our hair because we think it looks pretty, not for any deep sociological reason. This isn't an act of protest against cultural or social repression. It's not a grand, deliberately defiant gesture against capitalists or feminists or any other social group. It's not even the fashion equivalent to sticking two fingers up at the world. The boring truth of it, Gabriel, is that I don't dress like this to hurt my parents or draw attention to myself or make a statement. I just do it because I think it looks nice. Disappointed?

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

Catty had tattooed the crescent moon and star on Jimena's arm. Jimena also had two teardrops tattooed under her eye. Her other tattoos, remnants from her gang days, were hidden under her clothes. She, too, had a gift. She received premonitions about the future.

Bloody hell,” Charlie gasped. “That’s twenty-five quid each, Isaac.” “Language.” “Shit.” Isaac blew out a breath. “A hundred quid, Mum.” “Isaac, language.” “Hey no,” Dex said, holding up a hand. “I mean a hundred each. I could use these as stencils. At this size I could pretty much charge double that, if not more, each time they’re used. Probably twice again if they have them in colour.” The three of us looked at Dex in awe. He wanted to buy my talented boy’s drawings for a hundred pounds each. “Well?” I prompted. “Fuck yeah.” “Language,” I said, barely above a whisper, still in a state of shock. “It’s a deal.” Dex grinned. “Speaking of which, I said I’d show you my designs, but I gotta be honest, I’m not sure they’re as good as these.” “Oh fuck,” I muttered. “Language,” Charlie cried. As Dex stripped off his shirt, I genuinely thought I heard a choir of angels sing and saw a shaft of light shine through the darkness outside and into my lounge. There was only one word for what I was looking at – wondrous. He could honestly market himself as a tourist attraction and sell tickets.

Bound by Blood, Marked by the Dragonfly.

Do you want to stick needles in the living or scalpels in the dead?

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

Everywhere Gage looked, his fingers itched to touch and his brain raced to keep up. A snake coiled beneath his right pec, an eagle took flight over his left. Stars, numbers, and Celtic symbols fought for real estate. Gage would need weeks to explore the storied terrain of Brady’s body. Better put in for some vacation time now.

He had seen her painted sign by the road: Skin Illustration! Illustration instead of tattoo! Artistic!

He's lost everything once, and now, he wasn't sure if he had anything left to lose.

He wrapped her hair around his fist, tilted her head back, and kissed her. Hard. She moaned into him, and he pulled away. "Possessive much?" she asked on a laugh. "Just making sure these hooligans know you're mine." Her brow rose. "Really? Yours? Talk about caveman." "I'm a Gallagher, baby, I'm as caveman as they come.

How convenient if you could see what was wrong with people right away, if they wore their sicknesses and crimes on their skin like tattoos.

Great God! hast Thou given men Thine own image that it should be thus cruelly defaced by the hands of their brethren!

He grinned at her intently before leaning over the counter and running his thumb along her jaw. It took everything inside of her not to lean into that touch. When he lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers, she made a little sound that caused Graham to growl. "Later," he whispered as he pulled back.

He lifted his shirt, and on his back was the White Rabbit, wearing his waistcoat and looking at his watch. It was just like the illustration from the book. Only standing next to him, back-to-back, was another White Rabbit wearing a leather motercycle jacket and boots and smoking a cigar.

He whirled in the water and grinned at me. Damn, he was a handsome bastard. I realized he was half-naked. Blue swirls of tattoos painted his chest. When God made that chest, he did to tempt women.

I color your world." I blinked and my heart stopped. How did he....? Oh crap! I told him! Drunk, in the middle of great sex, I told him! Ohmigod! "I was right. You were asleep but you were dreamin'. You dream in black and white, babe. I gave you color. Now, you're awake." "Tack --" "You admitted it." "Tack, please --" "You were drunk, wet, hot and way the fuck turned on but you still admitted it." I did and the way he was looking at me, his blue eyes drilling into mine, I couldn't deny it. And also, it was true. Damn.

Ideals// _______________________________________________ You become a Man when you follow ideals in life. You become a Man when you follow principles in life. You become a Man when you help the needy. You become a Man when you stand up for the underprivileged. You become a Man when you don't chase money, or wealth or glamour. You become a Man when you don't chase happiness. You become a Man when you chase your goals and dreams in life. You become a Man when you don't ever quit the struggle. You become a Man when you never ever give up!

I don't just sit around hopin for nothing. I do shit. It's the 'hope' part that fucks that line all up. You should change it to somethin like, 'We fight for better things,' or 'We work for better things.' Or 'We plan for better things.' That's what's wrong with this city; it ain't about the mayor. Too many people busy hoping shit will get better to actually figure out a way to make shit better.

I'm also getting a piece of chocolate cake... "Can I have a bite?" he asked, his voice smooth and sexy. A bite of what? she wanted to ask, but didn't. She wasn't ready for that level of flirting. "Get your own slice, Gallagher." "I can do that, Blake. I'm in the mood for something sweet it seems.

I don’t need no surgery, or tattoos. I already got the marks and scars of the Universe on my face and body.

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 guys want to get a MOM tattoo and save a little money, just get two letters done. Get about a one-inch capital M tattooed on each cheek of your ass in pink and brown ink. Then when you bend over, it says "Mom." Also, later on if you're havin' sex with your girlfriend, and her parents are in the next room, when you finish up you can just lie on your back, draw your legs up to your chest and silently say, 'Wow!

I'll become someone new. Through blood and pain and ink, I can be remade.

I’m sorry that I don’t like your tattoos.”I walked away. I walked back to him. “I mean that I don’t like tattoos, not just your tattoos. I like your skin, though.”I walked away.

I see you in every flower in the park, every color in a rainbow and in every scent that reminds me of the things I love. Without knowing how, or even why it happened, I can’t imagine a world where you don’t exist.

I often think we should have tattooed on the back of whatever hand we use to shoot or write, 'I might be wrong.

I tatuaggi sono segni nuovi scelti da te. Metti qualcosa tra la tua pelle e il destino. Un sorso di coraggio.

It's how we work," his brother said simply. "I plan. Jake refines. Owen organizes. And you growl and grunt.

I touch the double row of silver hoop earrings hanging from his left ear, trail along his jawline, his neck, down his shoulder, to the flaming tail of the dragon on his arm. He leans into the caress, and my own body feels on fire with the continued way his eyes gaze upon me. The first moment I saw him, the night people clamored over each other to step out of his way, I was frightened. The guy with earrings and tattoos and an energy radiating danger. Now—inside and out—all I see is beauty.

It's my diary", she'd explained. "Every mark I've had drawn on my skin connects me to where and who I've been- so I never forget who I am and how I got here."There was humour in the smile she offered him. "And you know what the real beauty of it is?" Hank had shaken his head. "Nobody can take it away.

It’s more common for people to get fire tattoos. Symbols of passion, transformation, change. But I wanted smoke because it’s what remains. After the fire, after everything is destroyed, you’re left with smoke and ash. You’ve gotta make somethin’ out of it.

it’s okay if college isn’t your thing. I’m sure there’s a pole somewhere with your name on it, but next time you might not want to buy your tits off Craig’s List. Just sayin’.

it’s okay if college isn’t your thing. I’m sure there’s a pole somewhere with your name on it, but next time you might not want to buy your tits off Craig’s List. Just sayin’....Danny James

Merrick and I had both had tattoos, my magpie and his elephant and castle, imposed on us as…it’s a long story. A reward, or apology, or both, from the Dragon Head, or grand master, of one of the larger criminal organisations in China after we accidentally saved his son’s life.” “Accidentally?” “It’s a VERY long story.

Maybe that's what I needed. Another tattoo. Some pain on the outside to ease the pain on the inside.

Morgan gazed at the intricate and brilliantly colored images of dragons on her hands. They were nearly three-dimensional in appearance and perfect in every detail. Her left palm had a dark red infant, still curled in the confines of its shell, twitching and shimmying around as if ready to hatch. Her right hand had a cobalt blue adult centered in her palm with its tail trailing down her wrist. The adult dragon...bowed to her and gave its wings a little flourish. She twitched and smiled at the tickle it caused. [Morgan] used a finger to gently stroke the hatchling on her left hand. it reacted to her touch as if alive.