Quotes About Wound

Love discovered me all weaponless, and opened the way to the heart through the eyes, which are made the passageways and doors of tears: so that it seems to me it does him little honour to wound me with his arrow, in that state, he not showing his bow at all to you who are armed

Masgard drew his sword and swished it to and fro, practising flashy fencing moves as he advanced on her. When he was a few feet away Hester lunged forward and jabbed her blade at his shoulder. She didn't think she'd done much damage, but Masgard dropped his sword and put his hands to the wound and slithered in the snow and fell over.

Desire is an appetite, quickly sated. Longing is a wound, an opening in the heart or the spirit. Whatever the cause, whatever the duration, it almost always leaves a scar.

What the old man senses is that the tone of Monsieur Bark's voice denotes sadness, a deep melancholy, a sort of wound the voice accentuates, which accompanies it beyond words and language, something that infuses it just as the sap infuses a tree without one seeing it.

But there's another kind of hole, and that is the wound that divides family. Sometimes this wound occurs at the moment of birth, sometimes it happens later. We are all fixing what is broken. It is the task of a lifetime. We'll leave much unfinished for the next generation.

There's another kind of hole and that is the wound that divides family. Sometimes this wound occurs at the moment of birth, sometimes it happens later. We are all fixing what is broken. It is the task of a lifetime. We'll leave much unfinished for the next generation.

I grew up and I found my purpose and it was to become a physician. My intent wasn't to save the world as much as to heal myself. Few doctors will admit this, certainly not young ones, but subconsciously, in entering the profession, we must believe that ministering to others will heal our woundedness. And it can. But it can also deepen the wound. I

Leprosy deadens the nerves and is therefore painless; the real wound of leprosy, and the only pain they feel, is that of exile.

Jack's instinct to protect himself might have been the most alien thing I'd ever encountered. I'd never had a wound - emotional or physical - that I didn't probe repeatedly.

I shall continue to be anxious about him until he can permit himself some distraction and allow his wound to heal; nothing can do this but acceptance of the inevitable, lapse of time, and surfeit of grief.

his shattered arm. Dirty Jim ripped open the wounded man's shirt.

Memory is a wound, you said. And some things are released only by the act of writing. Unless I go in with my scalpel and suction to excavate, to clean, to bring into light, that wound festers, and the gangrene of decay will eat me alive.

And metaphors like cats behind your smile, Each one wound up to purr, each one a pride, Each one a fine gold beast you've hid inside (...)

Lamentations comfort only by lacerating the heart still more. Such grief does not desire consolation. It feeds on the sense of its hopelessness. Lamentations spring only from the constant craving to re-open the wound.

It's a small wound. All we have to do is stop the bleeding, clean it out and put a few stitches in." "But I've never had a chance to operate before. Which one is the scalpel? Is this one the scalpel?

Betrayal is the deepest wound. Betrayal is what remains of love, when love has gone.

You are at once a lasting presence and an unhealed wound.

The wound kills that does not bleed.

Jonathan suffered from bigorexia, the body dysmorphia that occurs when a young man like Jonathan continues working on his physical strength, often temporarily magnifying it with steroids, in the hope that it will fill the black hole of his psychic wound.

Burn, glare, old sun, so long unseen, That time may find its sound again, and cleanse Whatever it is that a wound remembers After the healing ends.

A Small Prayer" Change, move, dead clock, that this fresh day May break with dazzling light to these sick eyes. Burn, glare, old sun, so long unseen, That time may find its sound again, and cleanse Whatever it is that a wound remembers After the healing ends.

I had tried, as best I could, to forget the people who had said they loved me, and I had been able to do so only by replacing their memory with hatred for them and their crimes. Time is no healer. It scabs the wound until the injury is forgotten, but the infection festers, eating away, spreading.

The reality cuts across our minds like a wound whose edges crave to heal, but cannot. Thus, one of the great sins, perhaps the great sin, is to say: It will heal; it has healed; there is no wound. There is nothing more important than this wound.

De verdad la venganza puede curar una herida así?