Quotes on Bruises

The funny thing about our act is that dad gets the worst of it, although I'm the one who apparently receives the bruises [...] the secret is in landing limp and breaking the fall with a foot or a hand. It's a knack. I started so young that landing right is second nature with me. Several times I'd have been killed if I hadn't been able to land like a cat. Imitators of our act don't last long, because they can't stand the treatment.

When the emotional soul receives a wounding shock, the soul seems to recover as the body recovers. But this is only in appearance. Slowly, slowly the wound to the soul begins to make itself felt, like a bruise, which only slowly deepens its terrible ache, till it fills all the psyche. And when we think we have recovered and forgotten, it is then that the terrible after-effects have to be encountered at their worst.

But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back. There is no bruise like the bruise loneliness kicks into your spine.

Depression is like a bruise that never goes away. A bruise in your mind. You just got to be careful not to touch it where it hurts. It's always there, though.

If the Universe came to an end every time there was some uncertainty about what had happened in it, it would never have got beyond the first picosecond. And many of course don't. It's like a human body, you see. A few cuts and bruises here and there don't hurt it. Not even major surgery if it's done properly. Paradoxes are just the scar tissue. Time and space heal themselves up around them and people simply remember a version of events which makes as much sense as they require it to make.

Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I'm one of them.

Writing well involves walking the path of most resistance. Sitting still, being patient, allowing the lunatic dream to take shape on the page, then the shaping, the pencil on the page, breathing, slowing down, being willing–no, more than willing, being wide open–to press the bruise until it blossoms.

I hate slick and pretty things. I prefer mistakes and accidents. Which is why I like things like cuts and bruises - they're like little flowers. I've always said that if you have a name for something, like 'cut' or 'bruise,' people will automatically be disturbed by it. But when you see the same thing in nature, and you don't know what it is, it can be very beautiful.

We'll bury our mothers and fathers - shuttling our children off for sleepovers, jumping on red-eyes, telling eachother stories that hurt to hear, about gasping, agonal breaths, hospice nurses, scars and bruises and scabs, and how skin papers shortly after a person passes. We will nod in agreement that it is as much an honor to witness a person leave this world as it is to watch a person come into it.

If you are hurt, whether in mind or body, don't nurse your bruises. Get up, and light-heartedly, courageously, good-temperedly, get ready for the next encounter.

The bruises go away, and so does how you hate, and so does the feeling that everything you receive from life is something you have earned.

You proceed from a false assumption: I have no ego to bruise.

My new year's resolution: Never be afraid to be kicked in the teeth. Let the blood and the bruises define your legacy.

Authority without wisdom is like a heavy ax without an edge -- fitter to bruise than polish.

He always apologized, and sometimes he would even cry because of the bruises he'd made on her arms or legs or her back. He would say that he hated what he'd done, but in the next breath tell her she'd deserved it. That if she'd been more careful, it wouldn't have happened. That if she'd been paying attention or hadn't been so stupid, he wouldn't have lost his temper.

I had lots of hurt and lots of pain, lots of woundedness, bruises, broken heartedness in my life. I was abused sexually by my father, abused mentally, emotionally. My mom didn't know what to do about it, and she was being hurt in the process. So she just didn't deal with it. And I can guarantee you, just because you don't deal with something, that doesn't make it go away.

Writing, real writing, should leave a small sweet bruise somewhere on the writer . . . and on the reader.

The Montana sunset lay between the mountains like a giant bruise from which darkened arteries spread across a poisoned sky.

Words can bruise and break hearts, and minds as well. There are no black and blue marks, no broken bones to put in plaster casts, and therefore no prison bars for the offender.

They'll be days like this" my momma said. _x000D_ When you open your hands to catch, and wind up with only blisters and bruises. _x000D_ When you try to step out of the phone booth and try to fly , and the very people you want to save, are the ones standing on your cape. _x000D_ When your boots will fill with rain, and you'll be up to your knees with disappointment _x000D_ And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say "Thank you".

With subtle and finely-wrought temperaments it is always so. Their strong passions must either bruise or bend. They either slay the man, or themselves die. Shallow sorrows and shallow loves live on. The loves and the sorrows that are great are destroyed by their own plenitude.