Rick Yune Quotes

Through my mind, is just the horror of these people. I had been held by them, I knew how violent they were.

Like with all other crime, we must, of course, treat the perpetrators of these actions as the criminals they are. But unlike with the vast majority of other crime, justice is not delivered simply by punishing the perpetrator. This is because the harm associated with domestic violence extends far beyond the point of contact.

My family would try and trick us and I would come to a party and she would be there. When I tell you the 'Love & Hip Hop' scene is nothing compared to what was happening with me and mom... throwing things at each other, the cursing, the words.

I got my teeth kicked in for a good 25 years.

I don't want to get punched all my life.

Torture and other forms of cruel or humiliating treatment are an affront to humanity, and the physical and psychological scars can last a lifetime.

In March 2008, when I was 24 years old, a man I had been dating arranged for an accomplice to throw sulphuric acid in my face.

When people repeatedly hit me, I would feel a sense of unfairness.

I got beat up my whole life.

The kid who is scared is the one the bullies go after. I used to get beat up pretty badly.

The makeup person said oh my God what happened to you? I looked like I was in a car accident.

I left the clinic in a daze that had nothing to do with my head injury. Clear up in a week or so? How could Dr. Olendzki speak so lightly about this? I was going to look like a mutant for Christmas and most of the ski trip. I had a black eye. A freaking black eye. And my mother had given it to me.

I JUST GOT THE CRAP BEAT OUTTA ME!!!

Each wedding picture was less of a memento than a scar. Proof of some horror movie scenario Katherine Kenton has survived.

My mother moves so fast I do not even see it coming. But she slaps my face hard enough to make my head snap backward. She leaves a print that stains me long after it’s faded. Just so you know: shame is five-fingered.

Unlike the vast majority of people, I've been locked in a box like an animal and I've also been on the receiving end of bloody thrashings, so I feel uniquely qualified to judge which is worse.

She use to knock me out until her face broke out.

Multiply your death, divide by sex, add up your violence, what do you get?

My breathing slowed. I shaded her thick chestnut hair resting in a smooth curve against her face, a large bruise blazing across her cheek. I paused, looking over my shoulder to make certain I was alone. I drew her eye makeup, smudged by tears. In her watery eyes I drew the reflection of the commander, standing in front of her, his fist clenched. I continued to sketch, exhaled, and shook out my hands.

The bathroom door swings open. Emma sees the blood painting my skin and the red rivers carved on my body. Emma sees the wet knife, silver and bone. The screams of my little sister shatter mirrors.

Gripping my arm, Mother held it in the orange-blue flame. My skin seemed to explode from the heat.

Yes, I was beaten on every part of my body, and the marks are still on my body.

I've been beaten, I've been bruised, I was left for dead as well.

Not even the foulest atrocities of Adolf Hitler ever shocked me so badly as these photographs did.

I think so much of my early life, even though I grew up White and middle class, I was completely shattered by the horrifically violent atmosphere I grew up in. I am a consequence of violence. That opened a door to many realities that I would not have experienced had I not survived what I did.