Scars On Your Body Quotes & Sayings

And If the surgeon is like a poet, then the scars you have made on countless bodies are like verses into the fashioning of which you have poured your soul. — Richard Selzer

Tears flood in you
your eyes burning
your heart scars with my name scratched deep
My face is gone
my heart betrayed by your lullabies
I'm a shadow of a girl inside
Hands are touching you
nothing takes the place of you
Heart wrench, weeps goodbye
Lullabies, beautiful and trusting
Barely breathing as they break into dust
Lonely corners me
Sweeps me off my feet
Shows me it was better for me
Fingertips holding close
your grip not as soft
Follows me to an empty bed
I can't stop the weakening of my soul
my body is dying
your tune is holding my mind
Let me go
see what I do
No control
No you
You whisper your sweet goodbye
If it is small it won't interrupt my sleep
But my heart you keep
You say it's for me
But who would be happy?
Alone left out in the cold — Mercy Cortez

Yes, it hurts to fall
ache, tenderness
- but each scar is a sign your system is working. — Kelli Russell Agodon

Everybody breaks sooner or later, Bob. Anyone can drown. Sometimes you see it. Most often, you
don't because the body protects and the skin hides, so drowning doesn't look like drowning and some
people scar so nicely. Take it from an expert. — Ilsa J. Bick

His wounds now bear scars, and those scars dull all feeling. You may see that as a flaw, but I assure you, just as the body will protect what was damaged, so too will the soul. — Steven Erikson

Is it bad to like the way the scars look on my skin? Oh, the way they feel under my hands. My body's protecting itself, saying, "No, this barrier of scar tissue is to keep you out. — Taylor Rhodes

one might call this state ["youth" (but that seems inaccurate)] "remembering" but memory is quite eerie like caging a dream, and when I recite the rote details the real event slithers further from me because the telling of it reshapes it, every touch alters it, until it is unrecognizable except as a story [a doppelganger (immediately not myself) a writhing poltergeist summoned to snap at me from the darkness~or benign but vague, like a whisper making it better to remain silent, but I can't~the past is a narrative (that writes us) immanent in the present [proving there is cause and effect in the immaterial (the mythic becomes carnal by leaving marks on the body)] symbol by symbol, building up invisible scars — David David Katzman

He leaned down and cupped her face in his hand. "Every one of the men on my team has scars. And you know what those scars are?" Heaving a shaky breath, she shook her head. "They're proof of survival. They're badges of honor. They're marks of strength." Shane swallowed hard. "You don't have to show me, Crystal. But you do need to know there's nothing on your body I won't love and respect. Because it's you." The words reached into her chest and soothed her heart. — Laura Kaye

The boy bled for you - a whole body's worth of blood. There's no love greater than that. He belongs to you alone." His words are surprisingly beautiful and kind, and somewhere in my heart, I know he's right. But how long will I have to wait for Jeb to have the courage to admit it to himself? Morpheus touches the scars on my palm. "But let us not forget that you bled for me. So to whom do you belong, Alyssa? — A.G. Howard

Nicky's condition is called "Epidermolysis Bullosa", he has the Recessive Dystrophic form. This is a long fancy name for a condition of the skin where a certain protein called "collagen", which acts as a glue between the epidermis and the dermis, is missing or the body simply does not produce enough of it. Because the skin is missing this protein, blisters develop easily. This can occur after a slight bump of the skin or scratch, anywhere on his body, including his mouth and esophagus. Many of these blisters are painful, and will heal with scars. The scars cause deformities of the extremities, which lead to disability. Nicky always wears bandages to protect the healthy skin and allow healing of wounded skin. This condition is NOT contagious. — Silvia Corradin

That's when it struck me: how gorgeous we all were, even with cellulite (saw a lot of that) and stretch marks, scars and tattoos. Let me just say this, not single body was perfect, not even the fittest of women there. — Justina Chen

At the cross, Jesus subjects himself to disability, and his resurrected body continues to bear his scars as a sign of God's solidarity with humanity. — Thomas E. Reynolds

The soul aches as much as the body.there are days when all the scars , all the old and long forgotten hurts" lights up", just like old injuries before winter or bones hurt from blows you have collected in a long life and only forgotten for a short time. in those days you are bad tempered and absorbed in yourself, in your soul whose wound reopened only to remind you that nothing is lost,nothing vanishes, least of all pains and bad memories.they just whither away for a while, withdraw into an unknown depth, just like they will this time and you will put them behind you, until the next time. — Alija Izetbegovic

Scars crisscross her body. The left breast is normal flawless skin. The right breast and flowing down to her left thigh is a raised angry red and puckered scar. Her scars and flawless skin are constant reminders, of what was, and what she fears will never be. — Aden Lewis

Scars are stories, history written on the body — Kathryn Harrison

No! No matter how cut up she was, no matter how many scars on her body, no matter that every man who looked at her thought she was repugnant, she wanted to live! "Lia," Robert asked quietly, "how — Lindsay McKenna

I have a fetish," Kami claimed. "For scars," she added, and Jared's mouth quirked. His smile still looked incredulous, but in a different way. "Obviously my first choice would be Mr. Stearn, who was in World War II and is by all reports absolutely covered in scars. Hot, am I right? But alas, our love can never be."
"That's tragic," said Jared.
"He's like a hundred years old, I'd kill him with my enthusiasm," said Kami. "I couldn't live with myself. He's a hero who fought for our country. You'll have to do."
"I'm a little reassured," Jared told her. He laughed, a slow, wonderful sound, warm as the line of his body against hers. "But I'm mostly appalled. I had no idea of the massive age range my competition apparently fits into. Anyone from the age of thirteen to a hundred? — Sarah Rees Brennan

Scarlett doesn't want to go to the hospital. Not surprising, really, since we have to come up with an elaborate story about how we all got so severely wounded.
"Dogfight. We broke one up," my sister answers for us as a horrified emergency room receptionist looks at Scarlett's raw, bleeding shoulders.
"Dogs dislike us." Silas shrugs, clutching the wound on his chest. He glances down at the burn wounds on my legs. I think they might scar, but it's hard to say. The receptionist speaks into a walkie-talkie, then lets her eyes travel from the fresh wounds to the ancient scars on Scarlett's body.
"Dogs pretty much hate me," Scarlett says testily. The poor receptionist looks relieved when the ER doctors appear and usher us down the hall. — Jackson Pearce

Do not be ashamed of your most beautiful body, ma petite," he said, placing a hand flat on her abdomen. "Me? I would be proud. For you have given life! This strong female flesh has carried and born children. Such scars, wrinkles and imperfections were honorably earned. You are a mature woman, with many life experiences. — Nikki Sex

This man was hurt, damaged in some fundamental way. She saw it not in those scars upon his body but in the haunted expression in his eyes. — Emily March

I don't need no surgery, or tattoos. I already got the marks and scars of the Universe on my face and body. — Robert Black

The facts of his existence are plain. I know that he will never silence those unspeakable voices. He heard how people killed, and how they died and their voices infected him, coursed through his body, poisoned him. He didn't know how to turn off the noise, or turn the hate back out onto the world like the rest of us. He turned it on himself. You could see that from the scars on him. — Meg Rosoff

Some scars never heal. And he sounds like he has a lot of them.'
'But Christ had scars too, even on His risen Body. Wounds in this life become glory in the next. — Regina Doman

Lie beside me. Let me see the division of your pores. Let me see the web of scars made by your family's claws and you their furniture. Let me see the wounds that they denied. The battle ground of family life that has been your body. Let me see the bruised red lines that signal their encampment. Let me see the routed place where they are gone. Lie beside me and let the seeing be healing. No need to hide. No need for either darkness or light. Let me see you as you are. — Jeanette Winterson

Scars are good. Right, Helmud? It's the body's way of making armour. — Julianna Baggott

An accident you're in? It marks you on the outside, maybe. Scars your face or your skin-breaks bones,crushes skulls,leaves the body changed.
An accident witnessed? You're different on the inside. Maybe there's no cut someone else can see, bu there're always injuries on the inside.
Those take a long time to heal. — Carol Lynch Williams

I can heal the scars on your body, but I can't heal the scars of the soul. Not yours, not mine. You have to learn to live with them. You have to choose to live beyond them — Anne Bishop

Give it air & let the scar on your soul reveal itself, because, like the body, it too was made to heal itself. — Curtis Tyrone Jones

This will not be a gentle prescription for healing, but cautery and the knife. What shall I achieve? That a soul which has conquered so many miseries will be ashamed to worry about one more wound in a body which already has so many scars. — Seneca.

When you love someone, you have the ability not only to harm their body, but to cut their soul to pieces. And though those cuts may heal, they leave scars behind. With enough scars, you stop feeling anything at all. The skin's too thick. — Tara Sue Me

It happened as it always did, swallowing her swiftly and completely. Intense. Painful. Quick, vivid colors spun beneath her eyelids. Sounds were sharp inside her skull. Fire shot up through her bones. She may have been screaming and she wouldn't have known. There was smoke in her nose, thick and black, and she couldn't breathe. It stung her eyes and licked at her skin. Wood and metal crashed down as skin blistered and popped and she knew this wasn't her, knew it was someone else, someone with a bigger body, bigger boots and darker jeans, and big ol' hands with scars on the fingers. Men's hands. Nails blunt and dirty with oil and grease and burning and- The cars were on fire. Paper burned and curled and rags ignited, the cement floor pockmarked by flash fires. Meat withered in her nose and she realized it was her. Him. Dancing embers blackened and burned bone. He screamed and she hoped she was not. He writhed and she really hoped she was not. He was dying, dead, and- — Angele Gougeon

I don't know how we made it to the bed or if the water was ever turned off in the shower. But we were together, our bodies slippery, our wet hair soaking the sheets we were tangled in. And then we were tangled, our legs and arms. His hands were everywhere, paying reverence to the many scars on my body. His lips followed, and I grew reacquainted with the hard muscles of his stomach, the feel of him. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

I heard the Avarosh aunt say, 'She should grow her hair to hide that pointy chin and pointy nose.'"
"If I see that pointy chin and nose hidden, I'll have to hurt someone."
"You're supposed to say I don't have a pointy chin or pointy nose."
"But you do. And you also have pointy eyes," he added as he kissed both lids, "and a pointy mouth," he teased, pressing his lips against hers, "and a pointy tongue." His body covered hers as he held her face in his hands and captured her mouth, the silk warmness of her tongue matching his, stroke for stroke. Then he felt the sharp nip of her teeth as his mouth dared leave hers, traveling down toward her throat, fleetingly tracing the scars of the noose. "And a pointy, pointy heart. — Melina Marchetta

It is not the the bruises on the body that hurt. It is the wounds of the heart and the scars on the mind. — Aisha Mirza

There is a level of grief so deep that it stops resembling grief at all. The pain becomes so severe that the body can no longer feel it. The grief cauterizes itself, scars over, prevents inflated feeling. Such numbness is a kind of mercy. — Elizabeth Gilbert

Victory is freedom of mind and body.' I believe that is true. I would go further and say that victory is freedom of mind from body. Separation from the thing that imprisons us. Flight. Perhaps freedom from life itself. That is victory. Life is brutal. It is like this whip and these ropes. It hurts. It scars. But we must take it. — Douglas Clegg

My body is covered in marks, Cole."
Big deal. "Mine too, sweetheart."
She snorted. "Yours are war scars."
"Yours too, Christy. I waged war with others while you waged war with yourself. It's the same. It's just life; there's nothing to be ashamed of. We both survived. This body tells its own story, and it's an amazing story. You are amazing. — Elle Aycart

He would give anything if he could feel toward a lover one tenth of what he felt for Darling. Just for one heartbeat. But it wasn't meant to be. He'd accepted that a long time ago. Darling would always be heterosexual. Nothing would ever change that, and his best friend would die before sleeping with him. Why can't I walk away from Darling? Honestly, he'd tried. He'd gone from one man to another, hoping, aching that one of them would find a way into his jaded heart. And every one of them had disappointed him, and left him with scars that were deeper and uglier than the ones marring his body. But as he breathed Ture in, that part of him that he hated most surged forward. Hope was a fickle whore, and he hated the fact that he was her bitch. You've walked this path a million times, Mari. Only Darling was Darling. Everyone else was a poor substitution. Clenching — Sherrilyn Kenyon

The defects of the mind are
like the wounds of the body. Whatever care we take to heal them the scars ever remain, and there is always danger of their reopening. — Francois De La Rochefoucauld

For the record," I do not desire your body. Not that you're hideous or anything, far from it. Even with those scars, your chest is really nice, and I like your legs because they aren't scrawny, and you have nice shoulders and naughty bits, but I've never been one to put physical attributes ahead of more important things."
"Such as?" He had his hands on his hips when he asked the question, which just made me want to giggle again.
"Intelligence, a sense of humor, and oh yes, not being a mythical creature." I swallowed another giggle. "Not that it wasn't a cool form, but still. I like my men without the sort of baggage that must go with being a shape-shifter."
"Is that so?" One eyebrow lifted.
"Yes."
"Then you will not like this." He pulled me against him, his mouth moving into place on mine, his breath hotter than I could have imagined. And then he kissed the very wits right out of my brain. — Katie MacAlister

Teach me how to love you so good
our hearts will be beating
thunderously
against our ribcages
straining to get out.
For so long I have only known
how to hurt.
There are scars on my body like
constellations.
The one on my hip was from when I was six
and I learned my parents were
the Titanic and the iceberg.
My wrist has a faint bruise
reminding me of when I gave myself
to a boy who crashed and burned
and took me down with him.
Heartbreak sounds a lot like
a slamming door.
Show me it doesn't have to be this way,
I want to be proven wrong.
Teach me how to love right. — Tina Tran

Blemish,n.
The slight acne scars. The penny-sized, penny-shaped birthmark right above your knee. The dot below your shoulder that must have been from when you had chicken pox in third grade. The scratch on your neck- did I do that?
This brief transcript of moments, written on the body, is so deeply satisfying to read. — David Levithan

Christ, as the ultimate Imago Dei is alluded to in scripture as being without external beauty in the Classical sense, and should better be thought of as one who passed through all the slime and mire of a fallen and sinful creation in order to redeem it. His own body is to be remembered for the marks it bears-even in resurrection-of the scars of his sacrificial death. For the Christian, a theory of beauty might better begin at this point. — John Walford

i am suicidal i am depressed and i wish i was dead evey day but no body sees it or my tears and my scars that bleed — Laura Cooper

She is about to add, "I have scars, inside me," but she stops herself. What is a scar, Oh Toby? That would be the next question. Then she'd have to explain what a scar is. A scar is like writing on your body. It tells about something that once happened to you, such as a cut on your skin where blood came out. — Margaret Atwood

I don't have a weapon in my hand, and I don't have a uniform on my body, but my uniform now is my scars and weapon is my words, so I'm still serving. — J. R. Martinez

My heart, soul, body, and mind all have scars that will never properly heal. Still I survived. — Damien Echols

I think you should leave [the scar]. [...] It's not as bad as you think. It will look better once it is healed. And besides, you already have a classical beauty. This gives you a romantic beauty as well. — April Adams

These scars on my body," Alexander declared, "were got for you, my brothers. Every wound, as you see, is in the front. Let that man stand forth from your ranks who has bled more than I, or endured more than I for your sake. Show him to me, and I will yield to your weariness and go home." Not a man came forward. Instead, a great cheer arose from the army. The men begged their king to forgive them for their want of spirit and pleaded with him only to lead them forward. — Steven Pressfield

She opened her mouth to answer, but he was already kissing her. She had kissed him so many times - soft gentle kisses, hard and desperate ones, brief brushes of the lips that said good-bye, and kisses that seemed to go on for hours - and this was no different. The way the memory of someone who had once lived in a house might linger even after they were gone, like a sort of psychic
imprint,
her
body remembered
Jace.
Remembered the way he tasted, the slant of his mouth over hers, his scars under her fingers, the shape of his body under her hands. — Cassandra Clare