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Wound Quotes

Browse 103 quotes about Wound.

Wound Quotes

“It is only by finding and healing these old, original traumas that the narcissist has been using against you that you can break out of the insane emotional prison he or she has trapped you in. The irony is, this necessity brings with it an incredible opportunity: it can enable your evolution into the version of yourself that you have always wanted to be. It can allow you to free yourself at last from those wounded parts of your inner being that have prevented you from becoming your highest and best self.”

“Joanna Macy writes that until we can grieve for our planet we cannot love it—grieving is a sign of spiritual health. But it is not enough to weep for our lost landscapes; we have to put our hands in the earth to make ourselves whole again. Even a wounded world is feeding us. Even a wounded world holds us, giving us moments of wonder and joy. I choose joy over despair.”

“You know what happens when you slide your cheek on the edge of a sharp razor blade? Yes! That's how it feels when you slide your dreams into the palms of toxic and negative people! Save your dreams from defamation and disfigurement!”

“When we bury emotions deep inside our physical bodies without going through the process of healing, understanding, or forgiving, these emotions create deficits in our energy. Little by little, these unresolved emotions become parts of our physical self creating wounds in our souls that are hard to remove.” Excerpt From: Sarah Voldeng. “The Art of an Enlightened Woman.” Apple Books.”

“Child, child, love while you can The voice and the eyes and the soul of a man; Never fear though it break your heart- Out of the wound new joy will start; Only love proudly and gladly and well, Though love be heaven or love be hell. Child, child, love while you may, For life is short as a happy day; Never fear the thing you feel- Only by love is life made real; Love, for the deadly sins are seven, Only through love will you enter heaven.”

“Kiss your scars. Fall in love with them. They ought to serve as life-affirming reminders—a lingering trace of hope. The only reason we have these scars is because we survived and are still here.”

“Your deepest scars tell the world of your greatest triumphs.”

“Everyone experiences pain and most suffer from patterns that continue to make life miserable unless something or someone intervenes. The pain we feel comes from the cross-wise energies that keep curving back and cancelling the wise self and the good word that wait to be expressed from within us. Persistent pain is usually the indication that we have become trapped in a life too small for our true nature. That is the usual human fate and the common predicament where the little-self obscures the greater nature behind it. Until people realize what harms them and limits them from within, they are unlikely to call out for someone to help stop the pain. The remedy may be nearby, but until the pain becomes unbearable most remain caught in the agony of one form or another of self-inflicted wounds. As Rumi said, 'The cure for the pain is in the pain.”

“I don't know how to speak anymore. And with whom? I never found a soulmate. No one was a dream. They left me with open dreams, with my central wound wide open, with my heart torn. I mourn myself; this is my right. And yet I look down on those who take no interest in me. My only desire has been. I will not say it. Even I, or especially I, betray myself. Like a nursing boy, my soul has been soothed. I don't know how to speak anymore. I can't speak anymore. I have taken apart, what they never gave me, which was all I had. And it is death again. It closes in on me, it is my only horizon. No one resembles my dream. I have felt love and they mistreated it, yes, me, I who never loved. The deepest love will disappear forever. What can we love that isn't a shadow? The sacred dreams of childhood have already died, and with them, those of nature, which loved me.”

“Odavno znam da nema pogrešnih osećanja, ali sad znam da je bol jedini stvaran i da je bol, jebiga – da je bol prag koji treba da se pređe, da bi se sišlo u suštinu, u srž života, pa i dublje od toga. Nismo predodređeni ni za šta drugo, ali najveći broj ljudi ne ide dalje. Poseku se i na posekotinu nalepe flaster. Neće u ranu nabiti čiodu i kopati po njoj, nego će popiti Panadol, Brufen, Aspirin. Što dalje od shvatanja da je posle bola skoro beskorisno doživeti bilo šta drugo...!”

“Love is a fire that burns unseen, a wound that aches yet isn’t felt, an always discontent contentment, a pain that rages without hurting, a longing for nothing but to long, a loneliness in the midst of people, a never feeling pleased when pleased, a passion that gains when lost in thought. It’s being enslaved of your own free will; it’s counting your defeat a victory; it’s staying loyal to your killer. But if it’s so self-contradictory, how can Love, when Love chooses, bring human hearts into sympathy?”

“Having wounded each other, the two of us licked each other's wounds. Damaged goods both, we sought out each other. "If you want to die tomorrow, I'm ready for my life to end tomorrow - if you care to live for today, then so will I," I vowed out loud. Thus begins the tale of the wounded ones. A tale of blood that splattered red and dried up black. The tale of our never-to-heal, precious wound. I will tell it to no one.”

“Missing someone you love for an extended period of time can and will lead to madness, every bit as much as a wound that is not cleaned will lead to a festering sore, and thence an illness that spreads throughout the body. The only boundary between desire and obsession is time; if you crave someone long enough, it becomes a need. It becomes your ever-waking thought. The only thing you live for.”

“They call me deranged, a fractured fool, But madness is my kingdom, my only rule. Every twitching line, each shattered rhyme, The writhing chaos of a lunatic’s mind. A delirious dreamer, a nightmarish scribe, A maniacal poet, where absurdity thrives. Twisted nightmares, the crowd to engage. Bleeding raw horror onto every page. My pen carves scars, my paper weeps, In the cradle of chaos, sanity sleeps.”