Fiction is risky for writers also in that the process of making certain books, of shaping certain narratives, leaves scars and marks on your inner life.
...Her entire life has been devoted to healing the deepest, most invasive unseeable scar that one can ever have.
You know, the mind is a remarkable thing. Just because you can't see the wound doesn't mean it isn't hurting. It scars all the time, but it heals.
Each person feels pain in his own way, each has his own scars.
And what about you-the rest of you-did you notice the scars you left behind? No. Probably not. Because most of them can't be seen with the naked eye.
Mental stains can not be removed by time, nor washed away by any waters. [Lat., Animi labes nec diuturnitate vanescere nec omnibus ullis elui potest.]
Loss of empathy might well be the most enduring and deep-cutting scar of all, the silent blade of an unseen emey, tearing at our hearts and stealing more than our strength- Drizzt Do'Urden
I think we're all wounded, but some of us, when we experience the healing of those wounds, that they scar and scab over.
The rain Never falls upwards. When the wound Stops hurting What hurts is The scar.
It's not the physical scars that are the most painful.
You carry your past with you even if you don't remember any of it.
Misery won't touch you gentle. It always leaves its thumbprints on you; sometimes it leaves them for others to see, sometimes for nobody but you to know of.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will always hurt me. Bones mend and become actually stronger in the very place they were broken and where they have knitted up; mental wounds can grind and ooze for decades and be re-opened by the quietest whisper.
I am not writing to try and convert people to fundamental Christianity. I am just trying to share my experience, strength and hope, that someone who is as messed up and neurotic and scarred and scared can be fully accepted by our dear Lord, no questions asked.
I think each role takes a little from you and circles around you for the rest of your life. I don't think you ever abandon any of them.
As we walked, I began to wonder what the opposite of molting was and why, unlike the body, which sheds everything, the soul cannot let go but compiles and accumulates, growing annual rings around the things it wants and dreams and remembers
