Quotes About Injury

After all, Jack had gone into war five times and the only really bad injury he'd sustained was a pretty miserable shot in the ass. Not everyone who went to war came out crippled.

If clothes are camouflage, then scars are exclamation points of honesty.

had worked to get to the driver, who, pinned in her seat, was hanging upside down, seat belt still in place, her body as broken and twisted as the car. Alvarez had looked into the body bag and felt her insides go cold. Questions that had haunted her about the victim for the past few days now pounded through her brain: Why had she left in the middle of the night?

Every bone in her body felt as if it were broken, her muscles and skin bruised, agony throbbing through her joints. Gritting

It's not her fault she got hit.

May I have relief-of-pain, please?" he begged. It was always provided in his everyday life for the bruises and wounds, for a mashed finger, a stomach ache, a skinned knee from a fall from a bike.

He wasn't surprised. After the thorny branches had shredded her dress, they had reached for her legs as night fell, and now he could see that she was terribly lacerated. The wounds were deep, and he could see exposed muscles and tendons glisten yellow and pink in a devastating kind of beauty where the ragged flesh gaped open.

When he spoke, a new spurt of blood drenched the coarse cloth across his chest and sleeve.

The blade left him; a warm gush of liquid spurted from the mouth of his wound after it. Cazaril had hoped to pass out, but he only swayed as pads were clapped to him and held hard fore and aft.

Her eyes went again to the man in black. He had removed his hat when he seated himself and she noticed that his hair was black and curly. He was a lean, powerfully built man, probably larger than he looked while seated. Her eyes trailed again to the bandage. "You…you've hurt yourself!" she exclaimed. "Your shoulder!" Embarrassed

A dead man they could leave, but a wounded man they must care for.

Zero took the shovel. Then he swung it like a baseball bat. The metal blade smashed across Mr. Pendanski's face. His knees crumpled beneath him. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Broken bones and blood and gore, blood and gore, blood and gore. Broken bones and blood and gore

The left side of Mr. Sir's face had swollen to the size of half a cantaloupe. There were three dark-purple jagged lines running down his cheek where the Warden had scratched him.

Mr. Pendanski's face was so swollen, he could barely open his eyes. They were just slits.

Jo wanted to lay her head down on that motherly bosom, and cry her grief and anger all away, but tears were an unmanly weakness, and she felt so deeply injured that she really couldn't quite forgive yet.

Harriet told her, 'Captain John was so brave. He stayed there in the battle until his leg was shot off.' Victoria's brown eyes rested thoughtfully on Captain John. Why didn't he stay until the other leg was shot off?' she asked. But he still seemed to like Victoria best.

You can't judge an internal injury by the size of the hole.

Nobody can judge an internal injury by the size of the superficial wound.

Nobody can judge an internal injury, he had said, by the size of the superficial wound, of the hole.

Ahmed Sinai never forgave his son for breaking his toe. Even after the splint was removed, a tiny limp remained. My father leaned over my crib and said, "So, my son: you're starting as you mean to go on. Already you've started bashing your poor old father!" In my opinion, this was only half a joke.

The moral truth here is obvious: anyone who feels that the interests of a blastocyst just might supersede the interests of a child with a spinal cord injury has had his moral sense blinded by religious metaphysics.

Boxing is rough. Even if you win, you get hurt.

I just try to stay half way decent looking. Boxing's a rough sport and you get hit a lot.