Best 70 quotes in «tattoos quotes» category

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

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.

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.

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

I ate a coconut crisp and the whole thing shriveled in my mouth, evaporating into nothing but pure taste. I held another up to the golden light as someone sat down across from me. "I can't figure out this cooking technique. Do you think it's a meringue?" I asked. "Actually, I believe it's freeze-dried." My gaze leaped from the coconut crisp to the source of the foreign-sounding voice, smoother and younger than Michael Saltz's agitated lisp. Pascal Fox. His black hair was slightly matted and spiked, hair that was- amazingly- a bit like mine, thick and straight in places, wispy and fine in others. He wore a cobalt-blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his tattoos. In the semi-dark, I made out a mural of forks and knives, cows and pigs, carrots and eggplants and squashes and melons, like a super-hot, toned supermarket. He seemed to be showing off the whole mural to me. "Oh, hi!" I said. "I remember you. You came to my restaurant about three weeks ago, right?" "Wow," I said. "You have a good memory." I couldn't stop blushing and I regretted eating all that food. It was hard to feel pretty when I felt nine months pregnant. "I don't remember everyone. Just the special people." He nudged his body an inch toward mine and my breath caught in my throat. Up close, I noticed he had a slightly crooked smile and somewhat stained teeth. I liked that he wasn't the perfect model he appeared to be in all the magazines. He was almost a regular person.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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 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’.

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

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!

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

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’....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.

She glanced down at the triangle of three dots tattooed on the fleshy web between her index finger and thumb. The day she got jumped into Ninth Street, Veto had tattooed the dots into her skin using ink and a pin. Later, he had tattooed the teardrop under her right eye when she got out of Youth Authority Camp. The second teardrop was for her second stay in Youth Authority. She would have gone back a third time for firing a gun, if a lenient judge hadn't sentenced her to do community service work instead. She had fired the gun in frustration when she couldn't stop her homegirls from doing a throw-down. The cops had caught her, but she wouldn't turn rata. She was willing to go back to camp to protect her homegirls. That was the code. But the judge had seen something different in her eyes this time and let her off with community service. Jimena had known about her destiny by then, and she had changed. It amazed her even now, if she thought about it. Who would have thought she was meant for something so important?

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.

Our marriage began with knots and fangs; vows inked on skin. Black venom stained our fingers, twinned snakes strangling the marriage vein in Celtic macramé – cocksure monogamy. We became one, me and the gun, the serpent reeling itself from the needle. I had few firsts left; marriage a wild west for the hedonist. Snakes unspooled like figure-eights, symbols of eternity. Acrimony, alimony; Leave the moaning to adults. We children will be wiser wed, inoculated – these hickeys, homeopathy.

Scars are the tattoos your despondence carved once...

Seeing those scars, those marks that he most definitely had never asked for, I had to wonder how he felt about being permanently marked up against his will.

My body is marked with you. My arms. My chest. My eyes. My head. My heart.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I can’t erase you. I’d have to die to be free of you. D-don’t you see that, Gris? C-can’t you see? There is only you for me.

My tattoos, like most people's, were reminders, badges of personal experiences. Yes, I might wear them on my skin for the world to see, but their meaning was a little too personal.

Our bodies were printed as blank pages to be filled with the ink of our hearts

Something deep inside of me speaks with the voice of the psycho: For who could ever love a beast?

She wouldn’t want to be caught on his bad side—assuming he had a good side—yet the naughty bad boy vibes were like an undercurrent pulling her in. Don’t-mess-with-me meets I-dare-you-to-resist.

Tattoos, after all, are a passionate, usually doomed assertion of mastery of your own destiny, or at least a defiant embrace of one that you cannot control.

Sometimes you have to go a little crazy before you can find sanity. I think I'm close.

Take it all, all of it!" Greg cried out. "These things here...I've been making them better, fixing them. It doesn't matter...they don't matter. I've been here before." He paused to try to collect himself. "It's my past, my present...these things--" He lifted a hand out to the objects around him. "These things are me." Now whispering, "Can't you see me?

Tattoos are a permanent commitment of passion

Technically, all tattoos are temporary, even permanent ones.

Tattoos made my skin more 'me.' -Melissa Maxwell

There were reasons she stayed behind her barriers, reasons she was the way she was. And she'd be damned if she risked it all for a scowling man behind a beard. She'd learned the hard way once before. Never again, she promised herself. Never again.

The childish and savage taste of men and women for new patterns keeps how many shaking and squinting through kaleidoscopes that they may discover the particular figure which this generation requires to-day. The manufacturers have learned that this taste is merely whimsical. Of two patterns which differ only by a few threads more or less of a particular color, the one will be sold readily, the other lie on the shelf, though it frequently happens that after the lapse of a season the latter becomes the most fashionable. Comparatively, tattooing is not the hideous custom which it is called. It is not barbarous merely because the printing is skin-deep and unalterable.

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

This woman could make a saint sin.

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

She spoke with all the authority vested in her by her flea-market prayer beads and her lotus-flower tramp stamp.

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.

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.

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.