Quotes About Bruised

A half-drowned stranger was more exciting than a bruised and exhausted daughter. She could be dying for all they'd care, she thought angrily, picking at a deep scratch on her leg, trying to make it bleed again.

Labour is blossoming or dancing where The body is not bruised to pleasure soul.

The sky was a bruised red shot with black, almost exactly the colors of a tattoo. Sunset had two minutes left to live.

Almost immediately, my bruised eardrums were assaulted by another explosion, then another and a fourth. Five or six more barrels touched off in rapid succession. All I could think was thank God I was on the other side of the pillar.

I know it feels as though your heart is breaking into a million little pieces, but I swear to you it's not. It's merely bruised, and although this seems like the end of the world, it's only infatuation. Trust me, my dear, I speak from experience: It cannot be love if it's not returned. It's something else and it's just as painful, but it's not love and you will get through it

When she went out she used to wear a lot of eye shadow, which married with the sulky way she sometimes held her mouth to give her a characteristic bruised look; a look that subtly made one want to bruise her more.

I'm so confused. I don't know if I'm doing anything right. I'm so bruised. I don't know what to do. I'm just sick of being used.

India was free... broken in parts... bruised, but free. There was an essential unity to India that no partition could destroy.

He had perhaps been bruised too often. The peace of the vast aloof scrub had drawn him with the beneficence of its silence. Something in him was raw and tender. The touch of men was hurtful upon it, but the touch of pines was healing.

A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burdened with like weight of pain, As much or more we should ourselves complain.

He has a heart so huge, it's kept pumping, kept going long past endurance—even though life has bruised it to a pulp.

He'd been inside of a storm, all right. He'd been swept up in a tornado of sex and memory, naked regret and short-lived ecstasy. Now he felt tossed out of it onto the hard, prickly ground. He felt bruised and used.

It is a grave misconception to regard the mystical progress as passing mostly through ecstasies and raptures. On the contrary, it passes just as much through broken hearts and bruised emotions, through painful sacrifices and melancholy renunciations.

I encountered the watchmen on their rounds of the city. They beat me and bruised me; they took away my cloak, those guardians of the walls.