Quotes About Scar

Have you ever been hurt and the place tries to heal a bit, and you just pull the scar off of it over and over again.

When you are in love and you get hurt, its like a cut... it will heal, but there will always be a scar.

It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.

He had a jagged scar on one leg, a seam that stitched his dark brown flesh from heel to knee, wrapping around the muscles of the calf and burying itself in the shadow beneath the tunic. It looked like it had been a knife, I thought, or something like it, ripping upwards and leaving behind feathered edges, whose softness belied the violence that must have caused it.

A man with a beard was always a little suspect anyway. You couldn't say you wore a beard because you liked a beard. People didn't like you for telling the truth. You had to say you had a scar so you couldn't shave.

Within that frame he went a long way and burned a deep scar.

Memory of the knife will be gone when the flesh is gone.

A scar had been beaten into his mind which would only heal by experience.

Every fear, every night terror, every hour I cried for Liev, every fight with Sebastian is registered as a neat white scar.

From every wound there is a scar, and every scar tells a story. A story that says, I survived.

If you didn't learn the lesson from your first scar, sadly you deserve the second one.

Love is like hurting yourself, you get hurt, scared, frightened and most of all the memory of it will not only scare, but scar you for life

ugly, jagged scar that ran from the corner of his eye to his hairline just above his ear. He was glad he had it. A lifelong reminder of that awful day thirteen years ago and this treacherous cavern. He'd grown up fast. A breeze coming down across the

Chapter 1 Colorado Territory June 23, 1866 Last time. This is it. Never again. Rafe Kincaid pulled his chestnut thoroughbred to a halt in full darkness, still a short distance away from the entrance of the cavern. He rubbed the ugly, jagged scar that ran from the corner of his eye to

time. This is it. Never again. Rafe Kincaid pulled his chestnut thoroughbred to a halt in full darkness, still a short distance away from the entrance of the cavern. He rubbed the ugly, jagged scar that ran from the corner of his eye to his hairline just above his ear.

rubbed the ugly, jagged scar that ran from the corner of his eye to his hairline just above his ear. He was glad

A morte é como o umbigo: o quanto nela existe é a sua cicatriz, a lembrança de uma anterior existência.

It was the wound that caused this scar, and the blood it shed, that had saved my life, and had given me the opportunity to save hers.

Wallace Stegner once wrote that the lessons of life amount to scar tissue.

I stared at the black scar on the ground in front of me. From the photographs I could work out exactly where her face had lain. I was surprised to see that a small purple veld flower had grown there. To me it was beautiful.

But there's a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers is where yours begin.

But there's a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers is where yours begin.

It had never occurred to her that she might adore the adult Clay even more than she had the youth, but there it was. The man her friend had grown into—well, he enchanted her, brooding temper, dark kisses, animal protectiveness, and all. To her delight, the feeling seemed to be mutual. But the separation had scarred them both. What would it do to Clay if this disease succeeded in killing her?

That didn't mean she didn't still fear loneliness. She always would, the scar too old and too deeply set into her psyche—but she was no longer held hostage to her need.