It's a battered old suitcase to a hotel someplace, and a wound that will never heal. No prima donna, the perfume is on an old shirt that is stained with blood and whiskey. Goodnight to the street sweepers, the night watchmen flame keepers and goodnight, Matilda, too.
Who can calculate the wounds inflicted, their depth and pain, by harsh and mean words spoken in anger? How pitiful a sight is a man who is strong in many ways but who loses all control of himself when some little thing, usually of no significant consequence, disturbs his equanimity.
One of the things that I wound up loving about being involved with a bike racer was learning how to bike and how that really creates solitary time for you to reflect on things and nobody can get a hold of you.
At the very point of vulnerability is where the surrender takes place-that is where the god enters. The god comes through the wound.
My camera, my intentions stopped no man from falling. Nor did they aid him after he had fallen. It could be said that photographs be damned for they bind no wounds. Yet, I reasoned, if my photographs could cause compassionate horror within the viewer, they might also prod the conscience of that viewer into taking action.
No sooner was the wound given than the remedy was provided and revealed.
Time doesn't heal wounds; it only watches them take different shapes and forms until they look so different that where they came from is often obscured. The real capacity to heal inner wounds comes from heaven, not earth. Only the power of Jesus can go to the deep places and bring healing.
Love isn't soft, like the poets say. Love has teeth which bite and the wounds never close.
We need to proclaim the Gospel on every street corner, preaching the good news of the kingdom and healing, even with our preaching, every kind of disease and wound.
But at a time when our discourse has become so sharply polarized - at a time when we are far too eager to lay the blame for all that ails the world at the feet of those who think differently than we do - it's important for us to pause for a moment and make sure that we are talking with each other in a way that heals, not a way that wounds.
An artist wears his work in place of wounds.
Enlightenment doesn't mean we were never wounded; it means we've found a way to evolve beyond our wounds. Enlightenment isn't idealistic; it's practical. What's idealistic is thinking we can live from our wounds, stay in our weakness, and ever transform the world.
Hath any wounded thee with injuries? Meet them with patience. Hasty words rankle the wound; soft language dresses it.
Human trafficking is an open wound on the body of contemporary society, a scourge upon the body of Christ. It is a crime against humanity.
Love transcends international boundaries. It heals the wounds of racial hatred, prejudice, bigotry and ignorance.
Often I think of personal behavior and judgment errors as being superficial wounds.
There's a lot of wounded people out there who don't believe that there's any way they'll ever be healed from those wounds.
Woe to falsehood! it affords no relief to the breast, like truth; it gives us no comfort, pains him who forges it, and like an arrow directed by a god flies back and wounds the archer.
Rest assured that there is nothing which wounds the heart of a noble man more deeply than the thought his honour is assailed.
Self-love is an instrument useful but dangerous; it often wounds the hand which makes use of it, and seldom does good without doing harm.
In France we can cauterize wounds but we do not yet know any remedy for the injuries inflicted by a bon mot.
Old maids claw as cats do. They not only inflict wounds but experience pleasure in doing so. Nor will they fail to remind their victims of the blood drawn.
The wounds of self-love turn incurable when the oxide of self-love gets into them.
Incurable wounds are those inflicted by tongue and eye, by mockery and disdain.
Oh! if you could only hear Intemperance with drunkards' bones drumming on the top of the wine cask the Dead March of immortal souls, you would go home and kneel down and pray God that rather than your children should ever become the victims of this evil habit, you might carry them out to Greenwood and put them down in the last slumber, waiting for the flowers of spring to come over the grave-sweet prophecies of the resurrection. God hath a balm for such a Wound, but what flower of comfort ever grew on the blasted heath of a drunkard's sepulcher?
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