Wounds Quotes - Page 2

to love is to have ancient wounds exposed to vicious winds and be caressed instead of burned

when i open eyes in the morning, it's just like GOD Sprinkle salt on my wounds

Forgetting about our mistakes and our wounds isn't enough to make them disappear.

We will not open healed wounds!""My wounds are not healed!" I stated just as firmly. "They will never be healed until justice is done!

You must have thought more times than you realized "it will hurt".You should know it may. Okay. It may hurt immensely to open you up in your safe, dark space, sporadic light and chaotic air hitting you unlike anything you have known. Sometimes it will feel impossible to swallow. Because finding your way back to you involves telling the truth about oneself while pushing through a field of trees that are all whispering different tones of you.

wounds make you awake in the memories but tears makes tough and dry in real life.

Turn your wounds into wisdom.

I rip out my wings I so I can't be free, I rip up my wounds so it doesn't heal, if I rip out my heart does this mean I can't feel

Every pain, addiction, anguish, longing, depression, anger or fearis an orphaned part of usseeking joy, some disowned shadow wanting to returnto the lightand homeof ourselves.

Compassion‬ is medicine to a wounded heart. When we show compassion to those who are suffering we preach Jesus in another way.

Yes, fascism is a horrible storm, but the storm prepares his own death by receiving fatal wounds while hitting the things he is destroying!

A thing about poetry is, It takes cuts and pain to bleed words. The deeper the wound is, the more you bleed. And eventually, you will start falling in love with it. But the saddest part is, sometimes there comes a moment when you start to feel that all those wounds on your soul are not enough. And you start cutting yourself deeper, forgetting when to stop.

The dog leash was still tied tight around the oak tree in the back, stretched worn and limp across the green grass as if trying to escape to freedom; and he buried his wife without a tombstone. Where before, she sat most times in his home, licking her wounds.

You cannot disown what is yours. Flung out, there is always the return, the reckoning, the revenge, perhaps the reconciliation. There is always the return. And the wound will take you there.

There are some wounds that one can heal only by deepening them and making them worse.

They say let he who is without sin cast the first stone. And to be without sin requires absolute forgiveness. But when your memories are freshly opened wounds, forgiveness is the most unnatural of human emotions.

Time doesn't heal all wounds, only distance can lessen the sting of them.

The things you let go will someday teach you how to fly.

Scars are but evidence of life," Coquette said. "Evidence of choices to be learned from...evidence of wounds...wounds inflicted of mistakes...wounds we choose to allow the healing of. We likewise choose to see them, that we may not make the same mistakes again.

I must be ever so careful to remember that my pain is a precious salve that when used in the service of others can heal a thousand wounds and more. And I must likewise remember that if I do not use it as such, I have done nothing more than wound myself yet again.

You're like a band-aid that is slowly ripping off, and I'm still wounded!

Be grateful for every scar life inflicts on you. Where we’re unhurt is where we are false. Where we are wounded and healed is where our real self gets to show itself. That’s where you get to show who you really are

He, being hacked and cut for three solid quarters of an hour by the vigorous hands that had taken charge of his education, was soon nothing but a single wound, from which blood spurted out on all sides.

Just because you can't see the wound doesn't mean it isn't hurting.

He is a true casualty of battle. There's not a physical scar, but look at the man's heart, and his head, and there are scars galore.

Had the Battle of Franklin ever really ended? Carrie walked her cemetery, and around her the wounds closed up and scarred over, but only in that way that an oak struck by lightning heals itself by twisting and bending around the wound: it is still recognizably a tree, it still lives as a tree, it still puts out its leaves and acorns, but its center, hidden deep within the curtain of green, remains empty and splintered where it hasn't been grotesquely scarred over. We are happy the tree hasn't died, and from the proper angle we can look on it and suppose that it is the same tree as it ever was, but it is not and never will be.

I had him in my cab once.Who? Neville askedRupert Brooke. He was good, him. "There's some corner of a foreign field/ That is forever England".That would be the bit with my nose under it; just fucking drive, will you?

If you keep picking at that scab on your heart, it won't heal.

A single poemis worth a hundredcozy winter nightskind wordsand healed wounds.

Wounds are the fertile ground where flowers of kindness and wisdom will grow and thrive.

THAT crazed girl improvising her music.Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,Her soul in division from itselfClimbing, falling She knew not where,Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declareA beautiful lofty thing, or a thingHeroically lost, heroically found.No matter what disaster occurredShe stood in desperate music wound,Wound, wound, and she made in her triumphWhere the bales and the baskets layNo common intelligible soundBut sang, 'O sea-starved, hungry sea

We carry our wounds and perhaps even worse, our capacity to wound, forward with us. If we learn not only to tell our stories but to listen to what our stories tell us ... we are doing the work of memory.

You are a ghost. Filled with stardust, wearing the bones as the shield and the skin as the cape. Fighting every day and opening up for the new wounds in the hustle of hiding the old scars.

God has mercifully ordered that the human brain works slowly; first the blow, hours afterwards the bruise.

The soul of us is never confused about why it is here.It only asks us to wake up and see the breadcrumb clues it has been leaving all along.It asks us to have courage to face the wounds we have been hiding, allow it to heal them and untangle the heavy, snarled patterns.Because the soul of us has no doubt whatever that it can and, if we allow it to express fully, can live a life of such power and joy through us that our human selves will be astonished.

what once cause catastrophe in my life has now become the catalyst for my direction.

Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as a secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh.

I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with.Tell me why you loved them,then tell me why they loved you. I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirroron a day you’re feeling good.I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirroron a day you’re feeling bad.I wanna know the first person who taught you your beautycould ever be reflected on a lousy piece of glass.See, I wanna know more than what you do for a living.I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving,and if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes.I wanna know if you bleed sometimesfrom other people’s wounds,and if you dream sometimesthat this life is just a balloon —that if you wanted to, you could pop,but you never would‘cause you’d never want it to stop.If a tree fell in the forestand you were the only one there to hear —if its fall to the ground didn’t make a sound,would you panic in fear that you didn’t exist,or would you bask in the bliss of your nothingness?

You are afraid to let anyone in, but you still leave the door open, hoping someone good will shut the door behind him and throw away the keys.

The human race tends to remember the abuses to which it has been subjected rather than the endearments. What's left of kisses? Wounds, however, leave scars.

Nothing supernatural has ever harmed me. My wounds and losses have all be at the hands of human beings...

Sometimes the worst brings out the best in you, Sometimes the lowest tide ushers in the biggest change, Sometimes the gravest wounds translate into deepest wisdom, Sometimes the nadir leads you to the zenith - All you need to do is - To Hold On

I don’t have to let anyone use me. I don’t have to bend the truth. Even if I’m not ready to forgive just yet, I don’t have to be tied to my scars, to the people who wounded me, or to the anger and fear that grew out of it. I can be myself and be honest and not be afraid. Not of getting hurt or of hurting others.

Hate wound the heart.

My scars remind me that I did indeed survive my deepest wounds. That in itself is an accomplishment. And they bring to mind something else, too. They remind me that the damage life has inflicted on me has, in many places, left me stronger and more resilient. What hurt me in the past has actually made me better equipped to face the present.

Hate is a wounded heart.

Cleaning the wound is often more painfulthan the cut itself.

She was a wonderful teenage girl who had the miraculous power to cure herself from any wound, either physical or mental. With her own salty tears, she would cleanse her raw wounds. And her breaths were given, as though not to breathe but, rather, to fan her sores.

Oblivion cures the old wounds.

I was overpowered by the mere sensation of that dream and it alone survived in my sorely wounded heart.

I don't understand women that call themselves a "bitch". It doesn't empower a woman. Rather, it reveals to everyone that you were deeply hurt at one time. Because of the pain your still carrying, you will continue to hurt anyone that reminds you of those moments when you let your guard down and were fooled. Sadly, it sends a clear message to the observant that you are still hurt. If only women would realize that "we all" have moments of stupidity then they would stop comparing themselves to the masses.

God has hewn out a hidden path more glorious, tantalizing and adventuresome than the path trod by most, and it is a path seen only through the eyes of our wounds, felt solely through the heart of our losses, and singularly traversed by those with a limp in their step.

A little pain now and then is normal;The wounds will heal, and then we'll be okay.Life goes on, but not forever,So why should we?

Temporary, but excruciating, pain is the price of healing.

The small launch bay was littered with debris. A powerful breeze tore at his black silk shirt as Kilroy made his way across it to the waiting shuttle, evoking a feeling like the fingers of fate were caressing his body. “The Hammer” stepped over the body of one of his fallen crew without a trace of care or concern. The air was rushing past him, like a wind, out into space through the wounds in the side of his ship. Fatigued and desperate, the Hammer was running out of options. His ship was a mess, holed in a dozen places, the life support systems failing. Weakened hull sections were collapsing in pressure bursts. The vibrations that shook the deck beneath him now were not from the engines that once drove her forward, but now from the explosions down below, tearing her apart.

Instead of hating, my heart cries mercy! Mercy on me! Mercy on me! Mercy on me! It calls out to love in an attempt to save myself. I don’t want to be one of those people who live their lives with boils, septic wounds and broken bones bleeding inside.

The most beautiful women in the world are the ones that can stand as rivals on the battlefield of love, yet they can still see each other’s pain. They can set down their swords for only just a moment to acknowledge the beauty of the warrior that stands before them—the passion, the fearlessness and the relentless fire that never gives up. It is in this moment that we learn that it is not the man that sees the worth of the hearts torn by battle in his honor; it is the women who have suffered for so long. Two women that can “see” clearly the worth of the other, even while they grow weary from their wounds is the only kind of beauty that matters. For if there wasn’t two worthy opponents there would be no war in love.

Time heals all wounds. But not this one. Not yet.

Time heals. Crushes let up. Splinters work their way out. Doesn't mean they don't leave scars that itch.