Nothing sorts out memories from ordinary moments. It is only later that they claim remembrance, when they show their scars.
I've always believed that you shouldn't want to mend a broken heart, because that's someone you don't want to forget. Scars can be good.
Caught like a leaf in the wind Lookin' for a friend Where can you turn Whisper the words of a prayer and you'll find Him there Arms open wide, love in His eyes Jesus - He meets you where you are Jesus - He heals your secret scars All the love you're looking for is Jesus The friend of a wounded heart
I look in the mirror and see a few scars, but I like myself.
Thus, seamed with many scars Bursting these prison bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior's soul, Skoal! to the Northland! skoal! Thus the tale ended.
With, or despite our scars, we stay alive.
Handmade presents are scary because they reveal that you have too much free time.
As you see, I bear some resentment and some scars from the years of anti-genre bigotry. My own fiction, which moves freely around among realism, magical realism, science fiction, fantasy of various kinds, historical fiction, young adult fiction, parable, and other subgenres, to the point where much of it is ungenrifiable, all got shoved into the Sci Fi wastebasket or labeled as kiddilit - subliterature.
Our characteristic response to the mutilated statue, the bronze dug up from the earth, is revealing. It is not that we prefer time-worn bas-reliefs, or rusted statuettes as such, nor is it the vestiges of death that grip us in them, but those of life. Mutilation is the scar left by the struggle with Time, and a reminder of it - Time which is as much a part of ancient works of art as the material they are made of, and thrusts up through the fissures, from a dark underworld, where all is at once chaos and determinism.
No one need punish me for any wrongs, real or imagined. I am very good at doing it all by myself. I have the scars to prove it.
All of the sudden, my right leg caved in. I crumpled to the floor in pain. The doctor weren't sure I'd ever be able to play again...and even if I did recover physically, the psychological scars of so traumatic an injury might never heal.
This house isn't mine anymore, but the memories are; the memories can't be sold. The building that housed my once-upon-a-time dreams stands for someone else now, as it did for the people before us, and I feel happy to let it go. Happy that I can begin again, anew, though bearing the scars of before. They represent wounds that have healed.
We must respect the work we do. A slipshod method never pays- It may get by, but in our minds It makes a scar that always stays.
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
When the wound/ No longer hurts/ The scar does.
You can't be a rebel without the scars that come with it. Truth is, some days scars are just as ugly as they are beautiful.
That was me under the bath and the water being held down. The director wanted it to look as real as possible so he told Keanu, in front of me, don't go easy on her. So it was scary.
If you're hiring, if you're the person doing the hiring, forgive a scar or two. Remember that when we were young, we were also idiots. There were just no cameras there to catch it.
An art that heals and protects its subject is a geography of scars.
A scar left behind by a woman typically goes forever.
Jesus, he meets you where you are. Jesus, he heals your secret scars.
Losing a family member, and her dying knowing she didn't have to die, that...is a scar that will last forever for the people remaining, and even with good actions and good words, that scar will never disappear. Ever.
Never experiencing the life of the mind scars entire families for generations.
There were also the razor marks on her wrists and forearms, half a dozen per arm, not very deep, not very convincing really, just a lame, hapless attempt at hurting herself. There hadn't even been that much blood and nobody at the hospital had been at all surprised. These scars, for some reason, he didn't mind. Maybe they even appealed to him. They showed that she was weak and in need of him.
There's a place in the world for the angry young man With his working class ties and his radical plans He refuses to bend, he refuses to crawl He's always at home with his back to the wall And he's proud of his scars and the battles he's lost And he struggles and bleeds as he hangs on the cross And he likes to be known as the angry young man.
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