Quotes About Scars

Wrinkles of the future, cicatrices of the past, all the million marks recording a private life that no outsider could ever understand.

Tell Youth to play with Wine and Love and never bear away the scars! I may as well tilt up the sky and yet try not to spill the stars.

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?The hearts bleed longest, and heals but to wear That which disfigures it.

I kiss your heart because those before me have scarred it.

As he shook off his servant's grip and staggered heavily to his feet, the sunlight streaming through the outside door struck him full in the face. Samantha gasped. A fresh scar, still red and angry, bisected the corner of his left eye and descended down his cheek in a jagged lightning bolt, drawing the skin around it taut. It had once been an angel's face with the sort of masculine beauty reserved only for princes and seraphim.

I thought I was going to die there, alone. I thought I would never see you again. He seemed to shake off the memory and leaned back on an elbow, gazing at her with a lop-sided smile on his face. The Shadrin left some scars that aren't healed yet. But I would have to take off my pants to show them to you. Really? Kahlan gave a throaty laugh. I think I better have a look... to see if everything is all right.

Laura would never be so easily intimidated. She was braver than he could ever be, brave enough to wave her ugly scars like scarlet flags.

I am a human being, with feelings and emotions and scars and flaws, just like anyone else.

He was an enigma, John Pritkin: a mad scientist with gun calluses and old scars and even more secrets than me.

Strong enough that I was no longer afraid to be gentle. Powerful enough that I could be vulnerable. Scarred enough that I could understand and tread lightly around the deepest scars of others.

Strong enough that I was no longer afraid to be gentle. Powerful enough that I could be vulnerable. Scarred enough that I could understand and

She thought of the horse with his scars and wondered if having them so visible wasn't preferable to the hidden kind where nobody knew how to avoid the parts that still hurt.

It's not platinum, which suggests constellations and redemption. It's another yellow entirely. Asthma yellow. It comes from rotting petals and camera flashes that permanently scar your face. It leaks from clusters of stucco that remind me of blisters and lumps you get on your lips from kissing the wrong people.

A version of this, though, is always going on from the moment two people's time and space collide: Subtle or direct, we are negotiating the private and public spheres. If the wounds are on the inside, we have some choice about what to reveal when, and to whom. If the scar is one the outside-the physical signature that announces itself with the nuance of a trumpet-people tend to think they know a great deal about you, whether they do or not.

Let our scars fall in love.

Never mind. The self is the least of it. Let our scars fall in love

We all acquire two types of scars; one is visible for all to see and the other resides deep within us. Both possess pain but others can only determine if the external scars have healed. The emotional scars within are usually more painful and can linger for years.

It's a shallow life that doesn't give a person a few scars.

It's a shallow life that doesn't give a person a few scars.

Every dent, every scratch, every mark, tells a story. A story that ends with me, winning.

But I opened up each pale eye within me and inquired until I found enough to tell me to rummage some more, and then I tried to close all the eyes again at once, to seal each back—for their own good, for their safety. Each was already crisscrossed with darkness and scars and damage, and awakening them seemed only to damage them worse, so better to keep them asleep.

The scar said—that which is written in the flesh is irrefutable. This is the mark of a man. This is what it takes.

Vale más tener una cicatriz por valiente que la piel intacta por cobarde.

Best followed now is this life, by hurrying, like itself, to a close. Few things remain. He was repulsed in efforts after a pension by certain caprices of law. His scars proved his only medals. He dictated a little book, the record of his fortunes. But long ago it faded out of print--himself out of being--his name out of memory. He died the same day that the oldest oak on his native hills was blown down.