A wound in a young heart is like a wound in a young tree. It does not grow out. It grows in.
Because every one of us has our box, a dark chamber stowing the thing that lanced our heart. It contains what you do everything for, strive for, wound everything around you.
Give to a wounded heart seclusion; consolation nor reason ever effected anything in such a case.
The artful injury, whose venomed dart scarce wounds the hearing, while it stabs the heart.
Information is seldom enough to heal a wounded heart.
Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart. I took your thrust, whereby I since am slain, And I lie disheveled in the grass apart, A sodden thing bedrenched by tears and rain.
I thought my heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.
The wounds invisible that Love's keen arrows make.
He had discovered that the choice between self-love or love of something other than self offers no escape from suffering either way, it is merely a choice between two woundings, of the pride or of the heart.
