Best 278 quotes in «scars quotes» category

I don’t look at the wound. I don’t need to. I watched the Commandant as she carved it into me, a thick-lined, precise K stretching from my collarbone to the skin over my heart. She branded me. Marked me as her property. It’s a scar I’ll carry to the grave.

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

If chaos is a masterpiece, Then you should see my heart. If battle scars are beautiful, Then I'm a work of art.

I don't want to heal you. I want to love you until your scars merge with the love bites on your skin.

If ever sorrow and suffering set their profaning marks on the youth and beauty of Miss Fairlie’s face, then, and then only, Anne Catherick and she would be the twin-sisters of chance resemblance, the living reflections of one another.

I feel like a real dead one: having neither blood to bleed nor any flesh or bone to feel the scars; yet I want to hold on to my spirit.

If happiness left scars on our bodies, we would never forget about all the glorious moments we’ve been blessed with.

If I don’t wear anything, I’d probably make the food go off, and the children run away screaming. What with all the scars and all. I’m not what one could call particularly pretty.” Unlike you, Vadim, and your goddamned perfection, except for a word cut in blood and flesh. Vadim shook his head, already retreating towards the open door. “'Pretty' is different,” he murmured. “'Pretty' has no scars. You are... Jaw muscles tensed again. “Like the morning sky in Afghanistan. Not ‘pretty’. Word’s ‘breathtaking’.

I earned those scars. I'm keeping them.

If I could take away his pain… If there was a way to transfer it from his soul onto mine. I would take it. Without hesitation I would take it all. Maybe that’s how you know you love someone. When you actually feel each tear they cry as if they were your own. When you feel each cut, each bruise, each hit as if you’re the one suffering. I bled for him.& in turn, he bled for her.Funny, how life comes full circle

If you want my address, it’s number one at the end of the bar, where I sit with the broken angels, clutching at straws and nursing their scars.

I got a body covered in scars, but then who doesn’t? If you don’t have a few scars, you haven’t really lived.

I like my scars, they show I fight back.

I had this dream about you last night. We were still married. I was giving you a haircut, like I always did, being careful to trim around the scar on the back of your head. I’m sorry I sometimes forgot it and left you with a bald spot. And, I’m sorry we didn’t work out. But you look pretty happy on Instagram.

If you fight yourself, you will lose, and fighting leaves scares.

I look down, trying to see my skin like she does. Underneath the soft, cerulean-blue glow, there are so many lines it looks like a roadmap. I’m so used to the ruts and puffy scars crisscrossing my arms that I forget about them sometimes. They’re the legacy of the questionable talent that’s kept me alive as often as it’s gotten me in trouble. The story of my life is written in the wounds on my skin. I just wish other people could read the story, too. It’d save me a lot of explaining.

I may not have avoided certain wounds in my life, but I do appreciate these scars because they are a constant reminder of my victories.

I’m an artist; I do not destroy, but create scars. And above that, I am an inventor of new ways to create them.

In return, Giovanni told me that empathizing Italians say L'ho provato sulla mia pelle, which means 'I have experienced that on my own skin.' Meaning, I have also been burned or scarred in this way, and I know exactly what you're going through.

I'm not talking about the scars that separate your skin, Parker. I'm not blind, I can see those. I'm talking about the scars much deeper than that. The scars that exist within you. The ones you actually try to hide.

I PAINT MY FACE. By Omrane Khuder. Mirror, distorted; I sit, paint my Face, Toxic white Make-up buries my Scars, My Eyes tell lies; Dumbfounded Confidence hides the Disgrace. Place the tragic Vehicle called My Life in to Drive, Sad pathetic Clown; Late for the suppression show, Despair another time; Let the chuckles and defeat derive. I paint my Heart; I hide my True. I paint my Soul; I keep it from You. I paint, I cannot accept; To ignore you the way you ignore Me? I paint my scarred and pitiful Face; No Will left to restore Me. I paint my Face; it’s all I know to do. My painted Face shatters the Mirror, yet still all I see is You.

I realized that the cuts I had made, they left scars that might never go away. It means alot to me. To know that there will always be something there. Im in love with my scars, they wont ever leave me like everything and everyone else.

It had started to drizzle. The lamp poles cast a kaleidoscope of light dancing across the puddles in the road. The rain made Sam feel even more lost now, as if these shadowy events were invisible to the world. As if the night was cloaked in anonymity. This wasn’t a peaceful rain - it was a sad one. A drizzle, which wept for the inevitable. Sam knew even if she got Alison out of this alive, the cuts on their lives had already been made, pooling the blood of consequence beneath their feet as the night dragged on. Whichever way this went, they’d have scars from this night. Scars and scabs and things which could not be spoken. And that made her feel utterly hopeless.

I think you should leave [the scar]. [...] It's not as bad as you think. It will look better once it is healed. And besides, you already have a classical beauty. This gives you a romantic beauty as well.

I'm not sure that I'm ready for you to start asking about the scars.

Injuries heal, but wrinkles are the scars of time.

I said I'm selfish, I'm a liar and I'm broken Shit runs through my head every day that I would never tell anyone You're just like me The only difference is that I'm honest enough to scream my flaws in the lines of this song

I spend my nights thinking the worst And telling myself that everything's going to work out I keep kicking myself in the mouth Opening up every cut that should be a scar by now

It is easy to display a wound, the proud scars of combat. It is hard to show a pimple

It’s a strange world like that, scared to speak from the heart - incase the world sees our scars.

It's a tiring game resenting the scars and the fearful memories.

It’s okay to not be perfect and not to have everything figured out. It’s okay to feel things that are shameful, hate, and feel guilty. I feel like the message we’ve tried to stand by, is that it’s basically okay to have scars and to show them. To show that you’ve been through all sorts of things and have come out a different and better person because of it.

I’ve always felt safer at night. You can be much more forgiving of yourself, not to mention the world and everyone in it, when your shortcomings aren’t threatened by the brazen light of day. And by shortcomings, I mean damage. The scars are still there, but at least they're easier to hide. I never understood why they shine a fluorescent spotlight in the faces of alleged culprits in old movies to get them to tell the truth. Put me to bed and turn off the lights. I’ll tell you everything. I’ll be who you want me to be, I’ll be honest. I’ll be who I want to be, I’ll be braver. Just don’t ignore me. I really do want to be stronger, sweeter, less afraid all the time. Maybe it’s a within-the-womb thing, but it’s safer in the dark. What they should really warn you about is the light.

I understood now: how nothing looked more beautiful than that scar of his, that borderline that separated what Jacob could have been had he stayed in that orphanage from who he is.

It just happens that a lot of us have been through too much that is even too less than our age..and what happens is we cannot but remember it and all we think about is how to make now and after better than before.

I was dying inside, they kept looking for bleeding scars

I want your scars, your darkness, your secrets. I want to see the interior of your soul.

Love is dangerous. Love leaves scars.

Lumani had never managed a failed delivery because, in the end, no matter how skilled or how hard they fought back, pressure applied in the right places caused even the strongest men to fracture. But this one? He'd watched her. Studied her. Observed what maybe even Uncle, the reader of people, had missed. This one was already fractured, and the lines between her broken pieces were not fissures but scar material stronger than whatever had once filled those spaces.

I want to leave a mark. But Van Houten: The marks humans leave are too often scars.

Look," she said, and just that. That was the only time she opened her mouth, because she wanted to say something unnecessary, something that wouldn't be important or memorable, so I wouldn't have to remember her voice. We looked at the veil then, the thing that had turned her this way, and we smiled.

Love me starting with my scars. Those are what will lead you to my heart.

Many displayed in their nudity traces of their past: scars of knife thrusts in the belly, starbursts of guns hot wounds, ridges of the razor cuts of love, Caesarean sections sewn up by butchers. Some of them had their young children with them during the day, those unfortunate fruits of youthful defiance or carelessness, and they took off their children’s clothes as soon as they were brought in so they would not feel different in that paradise of nudity.

Markings in dry clay disappear Only when the clay is soft again. Scars upon the self disappear Only when one becomes soft within.

Maybe I should find another doctor; one who realizes the importance of scars.

Memories leave a light in the eyes, just as plain as scars.

Men who believe that the way to the mind is not by way of ice picks through the brain or large dosages of dangerous medicine but through an honest reckoning of the self.

Maybe it’s just me, but I think imperfections build character. The most interesting people seem to have the bumpiest pasts. You ever talk to a “perfect” person? What a snooze! I don’t even trust people with no scars. Whether for casual conversation or companionship on any level, I prefer to connect with someone who has experienced the casualties of life’s battles.

I was girly and friendly and my family life was happy but many days I felt like I was on the inside what Chase was on the outside. I always believed I was a happy person with a sad soul. I felt like I had had tragedy in my life when I hadn’t. Somehow, without having experienced what he had, his scars resonated with me.

My poetry has been engraved with your name And my heart is by your memory scarred