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“Just because you're scarred for life doesn't mean you should be scared to live.”
― Brian Celio

“Being the light of the world is about being a broken, exploding, scarred star and shining a light of hope and inspiration to everyone around you.”
― Ricky Maye, Barefoot Christianity

“The mindset of loss of a loved one is to understand that the loss will never be undone. You must live with it, like it or not. But, to live well, you must turn that loss into something positive. That way, you can become the best version of yourself; scarred, flawed and unstoppable”
― Val Uchendu

“Lumani had never managed a failed delivery because, in the end, no matter how skilled or how hard they fought back, pressure applied in the right places caused even the strongest men to fracture.
But this one? He'd watched her. Studied her. Observed what maybe even Uncle, the reader of people, had missed. This one was already fractured, and the lines between her broken pieces were not fissures but scar material stronger than whatever had once filled those spaces.”
― Taylor Stevens, The Doll

“Every second we're together, I get under your skin as deeply as you've scarred mine.”
― Kresley Cole, Dark Skye

“He'd killed people, lots of them if he cared to count. Which he didn't.”
― Jackie Williams, Running Scarred

“I see a man," she said softly. "A man with the roar of cannons still ringing in his ears. A man bloodied by life, but not beaten. A man with a scar that draws his mouth into a frown when he might actually long to smile.”
― Teresa Medeiros, Yours Until Dawn

“It did not
kill me and
it did not
make me stronger.

It simply was
and always will
be scorched upon
my heart.”
― d.j.

“Tender Ember

...Barred and branded
to be forever unloved
I was a tender ember
seeking solace from above...”
― Muse, Enigmatic Evolution

“Beauty... Is what you are after a lifetime of struggle in the face of hostility, surviving, and standing scarred and unafraid, triumphant before your enemies.”
― Christina Engela, For Love of Leelah

“The scars on her face said something different about her, too-that she, like Cyra, knew what she was risking when she risked her life."

pg 337”
― Veronica Roth, Carve the Mark

“Had the Battle of Franklin ever really ended? Carrie walked her cemetery, and around her the wounds closed up and scarred over, but only in that way that an oak struck by lightning heals itself by twisting and bending around the wound: it is still recognizably a tree, it still lives as a tree, it still puts out its leaves and acorns, but its center, hidden deep within the curtain of green, remains empty and splintered where it hasn't been grotesquely scarred over. We are happy the tree hasn't died, and from the proper angle we can look on it and suppose that it is the same tree as it ever was, but it is not and never will be.”
― Robert Hicks, The Widow of the South

“I hope one day love will find you and kiss all the places in your soul that's been scarred”
― Micheline Jean Louis

“Do not be scared of the truth. Lies have left many people scarred for life.”
― Gift Gugu Mona

“Never reveal your wounds.
They will all believe your weaker.
They will take advantage of you.
When they see how scarred you are.
Then you will have no choice.
But to fight.
And then they will feel the wrath of a warrior.”
― R.J. Intindola

“I was not chased by ghosts, yet I am haunted”
― Krystalle Bianca, Perfectly Fractured (The Imperfect, #1).

“Then my body was prostrate on the ground, my head snapped to one side at a horribly wrong angle. A flash of red hair in the crowd. Lucien.

Tears shone in Lucien's remaining eye as he raised his hands and removed the fox mask.

The brutally scarred face beneath was still handsome- this features sharp and elegant.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“Yes, I see it.
It is falling to the ground
Scarred with burn holes and marks,
yet still it floats.
It whispers gently in the wind like Fleur with all her hope.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Fleur of Yesterday

“The face that was revealed had once been as beautiful as an angel's but was now horribly mutilated. A livid red scar ran from just below his hairline on the right side of his face, bisecting the eyebrow, somehow skipping the eye itself but gouging a furrow into the lean cheek and catching the edge of his upper lip, making it twist. The scar ended in a missing divot of flesh in the line of the man's severe jaw. He had inky black hair and, though they were closed now, Iris knew he had emotionless crystal-gray eyes.
She knew because she recognized him.
He was Raphael de Chartres, the Duke of Dyemore, and when she'd danced with him- once- three months ago at a ball, she thought he'd looked like Hades.
God of the underworld.
God of the dead.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“Then the tall, frock-coated gentleman turned to fix Lavender squarely in his gaze. Her eyes locked reciprocally. Then full shock---his face---half heaven, half ravaged! The ravaged half the shade of beets. Burnt. Scarred. Quite horrific. Deeply unsettling, this damage. Bystanders near Lavender, noting his disfigurement, pointed rudely. Several children sent out squeals of fear and repugnance, and ducked away. But Lavender held her eyes steady, captivated by the man's deep, intense expression suffused with intelligence, kindness and sorrow. Such a complex visage she'd never before witnessed, a face like a book pulled from a fire, half charred, half intact, a volume needing much study to fathom. What calamity had inflicted this damage? He hardly seemed of the world, more like he'd fallen from some distant star.”
― Jeanette Lynes, The Apothecary's Garden

“The onlookers' rudeness irked Lavender. How quickly their veneer of courtesy fell away. Beholding the man, they acted as if they viewed an exhibit in some monstrous hall of wonders. Terrible as the ruined side of his face was to look upon, balancing it, the good half was nothing short of godlike.
He stopped in front of her floral cart. As if swished away by some invisible magician's wand, the gawking masses faded, leaving only quietude---a radical privacy---as though a glass dome ventilated with fresh oxygen closed over the two of them, and they alone existed in the world.
"Your flowers steal my breath away," he said.
He wished to make a purchase.
"How many bouquets or tussie-mussies, Sir?"
"All of them," the man said, then pointed to the sachet that had, earlier, toppled into the dirt. "What is this?"
"A scent-filled sachet."
"Sewn with your own hands, I presume?" the man asked.
She nodded.
"What fills it?"
"Achillea millefolium. Yarrow. It heals. Protects. It's also known as a love charm."
"Heals, you say?" The man sighed. "If only it could." Then he inquired the cost---of everything.
Normally, Lavender ciphered like the wind, but a tallying void struck. She told him... a number... some totted up, air-castle sum bolted from her mouth.
He paid her. The sum almost overflowed her hands. She transferred the bounty into her coin purse.
"I worship at your cart," the man declared. "And tomorrow, with even the slightest sliver of serendipity, you shall hear Mr. Whitman's divine words.”
― Jeanette Lynes, The Apothecary's Garden

“—Ahora te voy a besar —le digo. —¿Por qué? —susurra. —Porque, ma petite menteuse, creo que moriré si no lo hago.”
― Emily McIntire, Scarred

“What are tattoos really, but scars of our own choosing?”
― Jeanette LeBlanc

“My Definition of Traumata: psychological Wounds, sometimes open, sometimes scarred.”
― Sino Melo