#scar

I'm going to enjoy this.” “What?” I asked. “Hell? ↗

— J.X. Burros

#profanity #scarlet-spotlight #vampire #death

by the time you open your eyes, the world might have already changed. ↗

— Matsuri Hino

#kaname #scare #vampire-knight #yuuki #zero

I told him the story of the day I'd been mending pottery with one of the maids in the kitchen at Keramzin, waiting for him to return from one of the hunting trips that had taken him from home more and more frequently. I'd been fifteen, standing at the counter, vainly trying to glue together the jagged pieces of a blue cup. When I saw him crossing the fields, I ran to the doorway and waved. He caught sight of me and broke into a jog. I had crossed the yard to him slowly, watching him draw closer, baffled by the way my heart was skittering around in my chest. Then he'd picked me up and swung me in a circle, and I'd clung to him, breathing in his sweet, familiar smell, shocked by how much I'd missed him. Dimly, I'd been aware that I still had a shard of that blue cup in my hand, that it was digging into my palm, but I didn't want to let go. When he finally set me down and ambled off into the kitchen to find his lunch, I had stood there, my palm dripping in blood, my head still spinning, knowing that everything had changed. Ana Kuya had scolded me for getting blood on the clean kitchen floor. She'd bandaged my hand and told me it would heal. But I knew it would just go on hurting. ↗

— Leigh Bardugo

#ana-kuya #mal #scar #change

I shake my head, but I can’t change this. I can only bear the scars, as I have always done, as I ever do. ↗

— Ann Aguirre

#change

Well, I don't like your clothes. You look perfectly ridiculous in them. Why on earth don't you go up and change? It's perfectly childish to be in mourning for a man who is actually staying a whole week with you in your house as a guest. I call it grotesque. ↗

— Oscar Wilde

#jack #oscar-wilde #the-importance-of-being-earnest #change

The ears were large, flaring forward, the eyes limpid amber, in which the pupil floated like a glittering jewel, changing color with shifts of the light:  obsidian, emerald, ruby, opal, amethyst, diamond. ↗

— William S. Burroughs

#lemurs #madagascar #change

I saw something scary. It was a boy, asking me what I’m doing naked in his father’s fridge. Dinner party’s over. ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#dinner-party #dream #naked #scary #surreal

She didn't say anything—at least, not with her mouth. Her eyes told me a different story. The only problem was that they each had a thousand tongues talking, each in a language I didn't speak. ↗

— J.X. Burros

#eyes #scarlet-spotlight #communication

Worrying about scarcity is our culture's version of post-traumatic stress. It happens when we've been through too much, and rather than coming together to heal (which requires vulnerability) we're angry and scared and at each other's throats. ↗

— Brené Brown

#scarcity #society #stress #vulnerability #courage

The Detective was different. Not that he wasn't a good man; Willie had heard enough about him to understand that he was the kind who didn't like to turn away from another's pain, the kind who couldn't put a pillow over his ears to drown out the cries of strangers. Those scars he had were badges of courage, and Willie knew that there were others hidden beneath his clothes, and still more deep inside, right beneath the skin and down to the soul. No, it was just that whatever goodness was there coexisted with rage and grief and loss. ↗

— John Connolly

#scars #courage