Al Yankovic Quotes

When the body escaped mutilation, seldom did the heart go to the grave unscarred.

They tore out my heart and stomped that sucker flat.

Scars crossed her welded wrists.

A decade of cutting away dead flesh, cauterizing old scars ripped open over and over and still it is not enough.

Broken hearts healed. Maybe the cracks were always there, like thin scars, but they healed. People lived and worked, laughed and ate, walked and talked with those cracks For many, even the scars healed and they loved again.

I've been hurt quite a few times.

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.

People can't seem to get it through their heads that there is never any healing or closure. Ever. There is only a short pause before the next "horrifying" event. People forget there is such a thing as memory, and that when a wound "heals" it leaves a permanent scar that never goes away, but merely fades a little. What really ought to be said after one of these so-called tragedies is, "Let the scarring begin.

By God, I shall spend the rest of my life getting my heart back, healing and forgetting every scar you put upon me when I was a child. The first move I ever made, after the cradle, was to crawl for the door, and every move I have made since has been an effort to escape.

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.

When the wound/ No longer hurts/ The scar does.

You will ruin no more lives as you ruined mine. You will wring no more hearts as you wrung mine. I will free the world of a poisonous thing. Take that, you hound, and that! - and that! - and that! - and that!

My mom beat me up," I informed my reflection. It looked back sympathetically.

Scars are the paler pain of survival received unwillingly and displayed in the language of injury.

Time may heal all wounds, but it does not erase the scars.

My chest hurts...It hurts. The sound of his name is like a knife in my heart.

I wanted to be kicked and hit and bruised up and beaten. It became something that was an absolutely necessary part of every day for me.

tell me how does it feel with my teeth in your heart!

The broken heart. You think you will die, but you just keep living, day after day after terrible day.

You grow up with your father holding you down and covering your mouth so another man can make a horrible searing pain between your legs.

But I'm very thankful that no one is slamming my head against the wall anymore.

Most things break, including hearts. The lessons of life amount not to wisdom, but to scar tissue and callus.

You know, I think anybody who has been in relationships has access to heartbreak - I don't think we have to go far to find it, whether we inflicted the heartbreak or whether we were the recipient of it.