Best 278 quotes in «scars quotes» category

Who was it that hurt you, stole the light out of your eyes? Cut a hole in your heart and let the love drain dry? Who was so damn careless, to leave you with such scars? Where will you find healing? Right here, within my arms.

Why do you look?” I mutter. I half expect Magiano to tease me, spitting back one of his sarcastic phrases. But he doesn’t smile. “We are drawn to stories," he says in a soft voice, “and every scar carries one.” He lifts a hand and places his palm gently against the ruined side of my face, covering the scar. I look down, embarrassed now. Instinctively, I reach up to brush some of my hair over my face—only to remember that I no longer have long locks. “Hiding it makes you more beautiful,” Magiano says. Then he takes his hand away, exposing my scar again. “But revealing it makes you you.” He nods at me. “So wear it proudly.

Why is it so tough to forget pain and tougher to remember happiness. We treasure our scars but forget to live on our smiles.

Why won’t you look at me?” she murmurs. He doesn’t speak, seemingly at a loss for words. “It’s my scars.” It comes out as barely a whisper. Horror spasms across his face. “What? No,” he says, a bit breathless. “You’re beautiful. All of you.

Words, he knew, could scar.

words like mysterious mermaids come and live permanently in the soft sweeps and scars of my skin.

Words! What power they hold. Once they have rooted in your psyche, it is difficult to escape them. Words can shape the future of a child and destroy the existence of an adult. Words are powerful. Be careful how you use them because once you have pronounced them, you cannot remove the scar they leave behind.

Wounds heal. Scars fade. Awful memories can be overwritten with better ones if given the chance. The little imperfections of our psyches become overshadowed by the people whose love we cherish because they cherish us despite our faults; physical, emotional, spiritual, or otherwise. This thing we call the human condition with all its bittersweet blind corners and senseless humor evolves from within ourselves and not because of some pre-ordained reverie we desire to cast in the constellations. All in all it is what makes life worth living.

Wounds may heal, but the scars remain.

Yes, it hurts to fall— ache, tenderness —but each scar is a sign your system is working.

Yes, my scars shape me Today, I have learnt to cover it with fabric made of hope, faith, perseverance, and determination. For this, I am grateful to life

You are afraid to let anyone in, but you still leave the door open, hoping someone good will shut the door behind him and throw away the keys.

You are responsible for who you become... Love yourself, Like your speed; Leave your scars; Live your skills!

You can never heal completely. The scars will always stay behind, just to remind how cruel the time was once to you. But someday, you will learn to see beauty in the world that gave you these scars. And your eyes will shine with no lies in it. That day, you become beautiful. With baring all the scars, Which you always tried to hide from everyone.

You don't know how shallow you are, or how narcissistic, until you acquire a facial scar. On the plus side, it's so situated as to make me look tough and worldly. On the downside, I'm never kissing my dog again.

You didn’t grow past the old things, just enclosed them like rings in a tree, so someone feeling the bark of you could suss out your old scars.

You know I like you just the way you are, right?" I swallowed hard. "You haven't seen all of me yet." "You're amazing," Jay said, kissing me softly. "And smart." Kiss. "And kind." Another kiss. "And funny." He kissed me longer this time, as if making a point. "And you have scars. It all makes you who you are, and I really like who you are, Amir.

You want to know how I got these scars? I ripped every last piece of you out of my smile.

You're beautiful because your scars reveal how much you've endured in your life.

You'll always be the deepest scar on my heart.

Your mother wasn’t upset. “Scars stay with you so you don’t forget,” she said. She seemed almost satisfied.

Adoro la ambivalencia poética de una cicatriz, que tiene dos mensajes: aquí dolió, aquí sanó.

A city isn’t so unlike a person. They both have the marks to show they have many stories to tell. They see many faces. They tear things down and make new again.

A fighter never gives up. His scars are his ornaments. He may never be whole, yet he’s bigger than all his battles and beautiful, even in his brokenness.

Are they beautiful? The lines left from suffering, Scars of emptiness.

All scars tell a story, beautiful girl,” he said, releasing me to trace the marks on my stomach. “Yours are tellin’ me how healthy and f*ckin’ perfect my kid is gonna be.” A tear slid out of the corner of my eye. “Shut up,” I whispered. “And mine,” he said softly, grabbing my hand, trailing my palm across his cheek and then his chest. “Tell the story of how I found you.

Always remember, that YOU are the most beautiful woman in the world. Your weight, your height, your eyes, your scars, your idiosyncrasies, your complexion, and your sartorial choices have nothing to do with beauty. The mirror lies darling. It does. Your heart is where all the beauty rests. And of course, it’s your smile that sprinkles a dash of magic! The world is a better place because of your gorgeous smile. Never walk out without a smile on our face, a zing in your step, and a high dose of faith in your heart.

And he came to understand that the burial of the broken wasn't eccentric — this was what people did every day, stuffing their brokenness down, pushing it down, smoothing the surface over, making the surface look like nothing was broken underneath. Because, if people see that you are broken, they will not want to stand with you. They will migrate away from you the way groups of people walking down the street will move aside when a shambling ranting man approaches. They will look at the ground and look away so that such a person becomes invisible. So if you are such a person or just an everyday person with some broken places, some places really broken, you will pull them back from view so you can mingle with others without being seen as broken. Because if you have the look of a broken thing, if you are pushed aside and turned from, you will never find your footing again in the world.

And in her she’s flawed, with scars and wounds from battles she fought with her heart. Looking for a love so strong and worthy of the blood that flows through her veins… Never shall she settle… never.

And in the end, she left a scar and I knew that was how she wanted to be remembered. She wanted to leave her mark in the world without getting her heart too attached to it.

And she called him a stranger. Whose name still echoed in her mind like a war cry. Who had seen each bit of her naked soul and knew how scarred her soul is. Whose reflection still stood, smiling at her every time she stood in front of the mirror.

Another scar that faded enough to be just another mark we carried.

All of my secrets and scars and wishes and dreams can live together in this one body without shame, without blame, and without fear. I am all loved, all accepted, and all in service to God. In his eyes, regardless of what I did or didn’t do today, I am loved. I am His, so I am enough.

A mí me disparan y me dicen: "No pasa nada". Trató de estar con un ánimo despreocupado y alegre por Gabriel. Necesito ignorar a Nesbitt, pero cuando voy a coger más pan, veo mi mano y todas las cicatrices que tiene y el tatuaje negro y quiero gritarle a Nesbitt que me dolió, que cada cicatriz que tengo dolió, y que mi cuerpo está cubierto de cicatrices que sanaron rápidamente pero que todas me dolieron, y no puedo decir de ninguna de ellas que "no pasó nada".

And I find myself asking again and again.... What was it about such a beautiful man, who was able to leave such ugly scars?

And I wonder if that's what my scars really are: proof that I've put myself back together again.

And scars will lighten, they'll pale unless you keep rubbing at them...wait long enough, they'll fade.

But I'm here to let you know That I'll love you like you deserve I'll treat you right And on a cold, cold night I'll shower you in hugs & kisses And soup

At its core, the collection is built around a very wise line from a Beatles song: I want to hold your hand. I want to hold your hand with no further expectations. I want to hold your hand instead of telling you I understand when I don’t. I want to hold your hand although we don’t always get along. I want to hold your hand despite the calluses, scratches, and scars that get in the way. I want to hold your hand knowing I’ll have to let it go one day.

Beyond all of that, I could see the wall I had seen from inside the train, the wall that runs along the train line. I assumed that there, behind it, was the west, and I was right. I could have been wrong, but I was right.' If she had any future it was over there, and she needed to get to it. I sit in the chair exploring the meaning of dumbstruck, rolling the word around in my mind. I laugh with Miriam as she laughs at herself, and at the boldness of being sixteen. At sixteen you are invulnerable. I laugh with her about rummaging around for a ladder in other people's sheds, and I laugh harder when she finds one. We laugh at the improbability of it, of someone barely more than a child poking around in Beatrix Potter's garden by the Wall, watching out for Mr McGregor and his blunderbuss, and looking for a step-ladder to scale one of the most fortified barriers on earth. We both like the girl she was, and I like the woman she has become. She says suddenly, 'I still have the scars on my hands from climbing the barbed wire, but you can't see them so well now.' She holds out her hands. The soft parts of her palms are crazed with definite white scares, each about a centimeter long. The first fence was wire mesh with a roll of barbed wire along the top.

Blue-Eyed One, never again shall you cover your shoulders. I declare your scars to be medals of gallantry great than any I could bestow, and it is my will that all the Black Land look upon them, and learn the nature of courage.

Both her father’s hands bore the scars of old burns: the lines a map of a place no one wanted to remember, and Ross couldn’t forget.

But if a man truly loved you, he would see the beauty that lies much deeper than those scars.

But, standing in the fading golden sunlight now, I can feel some of the scars of the summer stabbing over. I can feel the promise of a new beginning.

But what good are scars if they do not ache? And what good are eyes if they do not weep? What good is desire if it does not hurt? What good is a passion if it stays ‘sleep?

A warrior is defined by his scars, not his medals.

Beauty is not the flawless perfection of youth, but the fine lines, scars, and wisdom which only living can give you.

But tha't the thing about scars. They always stay with us, whether visible or unseen.

But this you must know: the violent murder of a mother- when a boy is at the tender age, when he is just discovering girls- it is a terrible thing. confusingly mixed up with all the things feminine, it leaves a charred residue on the soul, like the black marks found at the bottom of a burned pot. no matter how much you scrub and scrub the pot bottom with steel wool and cleansers, the scars, they are permanent

Celebrate every success but don't forget to enjoy those scars of failures.