Quotes About Wound

There is never just one transgression. There is a wound in the flesh of human life that scars when it heals and often enough seems never to heal at all.

The box represents the mysterious threshold between reality and make-believe. Is it Reinhart's? Is it Thistleton's? Or is it yours? Because every one of us has our box, a dark chamber stowing the thing that lanced our heart. It contains what you do everything for, strive for, wound everything around you. And if it were opened, would anything be set free? No. For the impenetrable prison with the impossible lock is your own head.

The perfect wound was one that was not mortal, debilitating, or disfiguring, but that was bad enough to get you out.

You're not hurt, Watson? For God's sake, say that you are not hurt! It was worth a wound -- it was worth many wounds -- to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation.

shattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. I

In the traumatic neuroses there are two outstanding features which might serve as clues for further reflection: first that the chief causal factor seemed to lie in the element of surprise, in the fright; and secondly that an injury or wound sustained at the same time generally tended to prevent the occurrence of the neurosis.

A menudo curar es mutilar.

Oh, many a shaft at random sent Finds mark the archer little meant! And many a word at random spoken May soothe, or wound, a heart that's broken!

Thou are boot for many a bruise, And healest many a wound; In our Lady's blessed name, I take thee from the ground.

Her rash hand in evil hourForth reaching to the fruit, she pluck'd, she eat:Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat,Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woeThat all was lost.

The quickest way to the heart is through a wound.... Concealed sin keeps us from seeing the light of Christ.... Sin is like spiritual leprosy. It deadens your spiritual senses so that you rip your soul to shreds and don't even feel it.

Indiferent ce masc? îÈ™i punea pe fa??, nu exista vreo cale de a cicatriza rana sângerând? din ea, nu exista vreo modalitate de a alina durerea care îi m?cina sufletul.

At best, we conceive happiness; never felicity, prerogative of civilizations based on the idea of salvation, on the refusal to savor one's sufferings, to revel in them; but, sybarites of suffering, scions of a masochistic tradition, which of us would hesitate between the Benares sermon and Baudelaire's Heautontimoroumenos? I am both wound and knife"—that is our absolute, our eternity.

perpetuating the pain of the past. Is the telling the salve or the wound?

Later that evening, as we sat in the garden having drinks, I caught Harry looking at me with a kind of doggy devotion in his eyes. I leaned back in my chair, well satisfied, both with my drink in such pleasant surroundings and with his devotion. It seemed like a balm to heal the little wound inflicted by Piers's unkindness.

No greater desire exists than a wounded person's need for another wound.

A la rigueur, je suis heureux qu'on ait à rire de ma tristesse : seul m'entend celui dont le cÅ"ur est blessé d'une incurable blessure, telle que jamais nul n'en voulut guérir...

No great desire exists than a wounded person's need for another wound.

When I'm back with my own memories I drink a glass of wine or a cup of coffee. It helps soften their pressure, but the effect fades. Then I think I should practice grace for what I've been given to remember, but whatever I do, I can't seem to forget what I want to forget. And then I think I don't need to write anything down ever again. Nothing's gone, not really. Everything that's ever happened has left its little wound. ?

A river flows through the city's heart, sullen and sluggish, but brown and hungry and strong. And the city itself is a snarl, a brawl, a festered wound. It seethes and rails and bides its time.

Adding sugar to a wound will greatly reduce the pain and speed up the healing process.

Blood of the world, time staunchless flows; The wound is mortal and is mine.

The damage can fester under layers of time and change, and an ignorant, thoughtless remark can easily reopen the wound.

It was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds—to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation.