Injured Quotes

“The Motto of Champions: If you are hurt, you can suck it up and press on. If injured, you can rebound and return bigger and better...and continue to inspire!”
― T.F. Hodge, From Within I Rise: Spiritual Triumph over Death and Conscious Encounters With the Divine Presence

“I made spasmodic efforts to work, assuring myself that once I began working I would forget her. The difficulty was in beginning. There was a feeling of weakness, a sort of powerlessness now, as though I were about to be ill but was never quite ill enough, as though I were about to come down with something I did not quite come down with. It seemed to me that for the first time in my life I had been in love, and had lost, because of the grudgingness of my heart, the possibility of having what, too late, I now thought I wanted. What was it that all my life I had so carefully guarded myself against? What was it that I had felt so threatened me? My suffering, which seemed to me to be a strict consequence of having guarded myself so long, appeared to me as a kind of punishment, and this moment, which I was now enduring, as something which had been delayed for half a lifetime. I was experincing, apparently, an obscure crisis of some kind. My world acquired a tendency to crumble as easily as a soda cracker. I found myself horribly susceptible to small animals, ribbons in the hair of little girls, songs played late at night over lonely radios. It became particularly dangerous for me to go near movies in which crippled girls were healed by the unselfish love of impoverished bellhops. I had become excessively tender to all the more obvious evidences of the frailness of existence; I was capable of dissolving at the least kind word, and self-pity, in inexhaustible doses, lay close to my outraged surface. I moved painfully, an ambulatory case, mysteriously injured.”
― Alfred Hayes, In Love

“She destroyed my shoulder!' Jack cries, stumbling to his feet and distracting the others. 'I can't move it!' He clutches the joint, and I grin.

'That's the thing about having weak joints,' I say, palming another blade. 'You know exactly where to strike.”
― Rebecca Yarros, Fourth Wing

“Camilla sobbed, and then gently pulled him onto her lap, stroking his head.

'Please. Please get up.'

She had read enough fairy tales as a young girl to know that the prince was supposed to wake the love of his life with a kiss. But Envy was a demon, and Camilla was no damsel in distress. She pressed her lips to his forehead.

He didn't magically stir.”
― Kerri Maniscalco, Throne of the Fallen

“Did you know,' I said over the sound of my sawing, 'that one summer, when I was seventeen, Elain bought me some paint? We'd had just enough to spend on extra things, and she bought me and Nesta presents. She didn't have enough for a full set, but bought me red and blue and yellow. I used them to the last drop, stretching them as much as I could, and painted little decorations in our cottage.'
...
'I painted the table, the cabinets, the doorway... And we had this old, black dresser in our room- one drawer for each of us. We didn't have much clothing to put in there, anyway.' I got through the second arrow faster, and he braced himself as I tugged it out. Blood flowed, then clotted. I started on the third. 'I painted flowers for Elain on her drawer,' I said, sawing and sawing. 'Little roses and begonias and irises. And for Nesta...' The arrow clanged to the ground and I ripped out the other end.

I watched the blood flow and stop- watched him slowly lower the wing to the ground, his body trembling.

'Nesta,' I said, starting on the other wing, 'I painted flames for her. She was always angry, always burning. I think she and Amren would be fast friends. I think she would like Velaris, despite herself. And I think Elain- Elain would like it, too. Though she'd probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.'

I smiled at the thought- at how handsome they would be together. If the warrior ever stopped quietly loving Mor. I doubted it. Azriel would likely love Mor until he was a whisper of darkness between the stars.
...
'Rhys's voice was raw as he said to the floor, 'What did you paint for yourself?'
...
'I painted the night sky.'

He stilled. I went on, 'I painted stars and the moon and clouds and just endless, dark sky.' I finished the sixth, and was well on my way sawing through the seventh before I said, 'I never knew why. I rarely went outside at night- usually, I was so tired from hunting that I just wanted to sleep. But I wonder...' I pulled out the seventh and final arrow. 'I wonder if some part of me knew what was waiting for me. That I would never be a gentle grower of things, or someone who burned like fire- but that I would be quiet and enduring and as faceted as the night. That I would have beauty, for those who knew where to look, and if people didn't bother to look, but to only fear it... Then I didn't particularly care for them, anyway. I wonder if, even in my despair and hopelessness, I was never truly alone. I wonder if I was looking for this place- looking for you all.'
...
'I was looking for you, too,' Rhys murmured.

And passed out.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“Everyone saw you lose it,' I whisper, doing my best to mentally block the pain like I have countless times before. It's usually as easy as building a mental wall around the pulsing torment in my body, then telling myself the pain only exists in that box so I can't feel it, but it isn't working so well this time.

'I didn't lose it.' He kicks the door three times when we reach it.

'You shouted and carried me out of there like I mean something to you.' I focus on the scar on his jaw, the stubble on his tan skin, anything to keep from feeling the utter destruction in my shoulder.

'You do mean something to me.' He kicks again.

And now everyone knows.”
― Rebecca Yarros, Fourth Wing

“I would control your life, every step you walk, and every word you say; there is no way you can run from an injured wolf.”
― M.F. Moonzajer

“I'm fine,' Oak says, sliding off the horse and immediately collapsing onto the asphalt.

'Fine?' the knight echoes, eyebrows raised.

'I couldn't say it if it wasn't true,' says the prince, and manages to stagger to his feet. He leans heavily on a nearby car.”
― Holly Black, The Stolen Heir

“If I see you in a club hobbling like an injured baby colt, I want to push you over. I will push you over.”
― Sophia Amoruso, #Girlboss

“Do not complain to others of a wound that is hurting you;
The wound will only hurt the one who is injured .
Complaining to others will only add to your pain when you realize that people’s indifference will only cause you insults.”
― Nadine Sadaka Boulos

“Unfortunately, police corruption is one of my research areas. I do not like doing it, but it does have to be done. It is very risky! You can get arrested, injured or killed by the police doing it.”
― Steven Magee

“Deregulation: It is what greedy corporate business people do. Afterwards people start getting injured and killed in large numbers and then the reality of deregulation emerges to the general public.”
― Steven Magee

“Disabled? Welcome to my world.”
― Steven Magee

“The disabled of America are in serious distress.”
― Steven Magee

“No one cares about an injured leg of a tiny ant
It has to be healed for its own walking
Such is the norm of nature
which seems to be always unwilling to compromise

From the poem- Altered”
― Munia Khan, Fireclay

“A sea level adapted human being injured at high altitude is undesirable and may have long term health consequences.”
― Steven Magee

“He glanced down at the map on the table, and his voice was void of anything- any emotion, any anger or amusement- as he said, 'What is that?'

I snatched up my map. 'I thought I should learn my surroundings.'

Drip, drip, drip.

I opened my mouth to point out his hand again, but he said, 'You can't write, can you.'

I didn't answer. I didn't know what to say. Ignorant, insignificant human.

'No wonder you become so adept at other things.'

I supposed he was so far gone in thinking about his encounter with the Bogge that he hadn't realised the compliment he'd given me. If it was a compliment.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“Another splatter of blood on the marble. 'Where can we clean up your hand?'

He lifted his head to look at me again. Still and silent and weary. Then he said, 'There's a small infirmary.'

I wanted to tell myself that it was probably the most useful thing I'd learned all night. But as I followed him there, avoiding the blood he trailed, I thought of what Lucien had told me about his isolation, that burden, thought of what Tamlin had mentioned about how these estates should not have been his, and felt... sorry for him.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“Tamlin slumped against the edge of the table, gripping his injured hand at the wrist as he watched me sort through the supplies in the cabinets and drawers. When I'd gathered what I'd needed, I tried not to balk at the thought of touching him, but... I didn't let myself give in to my dread as I took his hand, the heat of his skin like an inferno against my cool fingers.

I cleaned off his bloody, dirty hand, bracing for the first flash of those claws. But his claws remained retracted, and he kept silent as I bound and wrapped his hand- surprisingly enough, there were no more than a few vicious cuts, none of them requiring stitching.

I secured the bandage in place and stepped away, bringing the bowl of bloody water to the deep sink in the back of the room. His eyes were a brand upon me as I finished cleaning, and the room became too small, too hot. He'd killed the Bogge and walked away relatively unscathed. If Tamlin was that powerful, then the High Lords of Prythian must be near-gods. Every mortal instinct in my body bleated in panic at the thought.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“His head lifted. Pain-filled eyes, bloodless lips. 'You saved me,' he rasped.

'You can explain who they were later.'

'Ambush,' Rhys said anyway, his eyes scanning my face for signs of hurt. 'Hybern soldiers with ancient chains from the king himself, to nullify my power. They must have traced the magic I used yesterday... I'm sorry.' The words tumbled out of him. I brushed back his dark hair. That was why I hadn't been able to use the bond to speak mind to mind.

'Rest,' I said, and moved to retrieve the blanket from my pack. It'd have to do. He gripped my wrist before I could rise. His eyelids lowered. Consciousness ripped from him- too fast. Much too fast and too heavy.

'I was looking for you, too,' Rhys murmured.

And passed out.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“How bad,' he asked, his voice hoarse.

'How bad was your injury,' Rhys said mildly, 'or how badly did we have our asses kicked?'

Cassian blinked again. Slowly. As if whatever sedative he'd been given still held sway.

'To answer the second question,' Rhys went on, Mor and Azriel backing away a step or two as something sharpened in my mate's voice, 'we managed. Keir took heavy hits, but... we won. Barely. To answer the first...' Rhys bared his teeth. 'Don't you ever pull that kind of shit again.'

The glaze wore off Cassian's eyes as he heard the challenge, the anger, and tried to sit up. He hissed, scowling down at the red, angry slice down his chest.

'Your guts were hanging out, you stupid prick,' Rhys snapped. 'Az held them in for you.'

Indeed, the Shadowsinger's hands were caked in blood- Cassian's blood. And his face... cold with- anger.

'I'm a soldier,' Cassian said flatly. 'It's part of the job.'

'I gave you an order to wait,' Rhys growled. 'You ignored it.'

I glanced to Mor, to Azriel- a silent question of whether we should remain. They were too busy watching Rhys and Cassian to notice.

'The line was breaking,' Cassian retorted. 'Your order was bullshit.'

Rhys braced his hands on either side of Cassian's legs and snarled in his face, 'I am your High Lord. You don't get to disregard orders you don't like.'

Cassian sat up this time, swearing at the pain lingering in his body. 'Don't you pull rank because you're pissed off-'

'You and your damned theatrics on the battlefield nearly got you killed.' And even as Rhys spat the words- that was panic, again, in his eyes. His voice. 'I'm not pissed. I'm furious.'

'So you're allowed to be mad about our choices to protect you- and we're not allowed to be furious with you for your self-sacrificing bullshit?'

Rhys just stared at him. Cassian stared right back.

'You could have died,' was all Rhys said, his voice raw.

'So could you.'

Another beat of silence- and in its wake, the anger shifted.

Rhys said quietly, 'Even after Hybern... I can't stomach it.'

Seeing him hurt. Any of us hurt.

And the way Rhys spoke, the way Cassian leaned forward, wincing again, and gripped Rhys's shoulder....

I strode out of the tent. Left them to talk. Azriel and Mor followed behind me.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin

“My high altitude injured right hand is recovering. The hand itself is not injured, it is the injured nerve in the arm that is causing muscle wasting in the hand. It seems to be bruised. Injured nerves can take 1-2 years to recover. Given that it has shown an extensive recovery already, I expect it may fully recover in a year or so. The damaged nerve was an occupational hazard of being an altitude researcher!”
― Steven Magee, Toxic Altitude

“Then Cassian screamed. I looked toward him. Away from my father.

Not twenty feet away, Cassian was on the ground. Wings- snapped in spots. Blood leaking from them.

Bone jutted from his thigh. His siphons were dull. Empty.

He'd already drained them before coming here. Was exhausted.

But he had come- for her. For us.

He was panting, blood dribbling from his nose. Arms buckling as he tried to rise.

The King of Hybern stood over him, and extended a hand.

Cassian arched off the ground, bellowing in pain. A bone cracked somewhere in his body.

'Stop.'

The King looked over a shoulder as Nesta stepped forward. Cassian mouthed for her to run, blood escaping from his lips and onto the moss beneath him.

Nesta took in his broken body, the pain in Cassian's eyes, and angled her head.

The movement was not human. Not Fae.

Purely animal.

Purely predator.

And when her eyes lifted to the king again... 'I am going to kill you.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin

“Warm, buttery sunlight through the leaves, setting them glowing like rubies and citrines. The damp, earthen scent of rotting things beneath the leaves and roots she lay upon. Had been thrown and left upon.

Everything hurt. Everything. She couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but watch the sun drift through the rich canopy far overhead, listen to the wind between the silvery trunks.

And the centre of that pain, radiating outward like living fire with each uneven, rasping breath...

Light, steady steps crunched on the leaves. Six sets. A border guard, a patrol.

Help. Someone to help-

A male voice, foreign and deep, swore. Then went silent.

Went silent as a single pair of steps approached. She couldn't turn her head, couldn't bear the agony. Could do nothing but inhale each wet, shuddering breath.

'Don't touch her.'

Those steps stopped.

It was not a warning to protect her. Defend her.

She knew the voice that spoke. Had dreaded hearing it.

She felt him approach now. Felt each reverberation in the leaves, the moss, the roots. As if the very land shuddered before him.

'No one touches her,' he said. Eris. 'The moment we do, she's our responsibility.'

Cold, unfeeling words.

'But- but they nailed a-'

'No one touches her.'

Nailed.

They had spiked nails into her.

Had pinned her down as she screamed, pinned her down as she roared at them, then begged them. And then they had taken out those long, brutal iron nails. And the hammer.

Three of them.

Three strikes of the hammer, drowned out by her screaming, by the pain.

She began shaking, hating it as much as she'd hated the begging. Her body bellowed in agony, those nails in her abdomen relentless.

A pale, beautiful face appeared above her, blocking out the jewel-like leaves above. Unmoved. Impassive. 'I take it you do not wish to live here, Morrigan.'

She would rather die here, bleed out here. She would rather die and return- return as something wicked and cruel, and shred them all apart.

He must have read it in her eyes. A small smile curved her lips. 'I thought so.'

Eris straightened, turning. Her fingers curled in the leaves and loamy soil.

She wished she could grow claws- grow claws as Rhys could- and rip out that pale throat. But that was not her gift. Her gift... her gift had left her here. Broken and bleeding.

Eris took a step away.

Someone behind him blurted, 'We can't just leave her to-'

'We can, and we will,' Eris said simply, his pace unfaltering as he strode away. 'She chose to sully herself; her family chose to deal with her like garbage. I have already told them my decision in this matter.' A long pause, crueller than the rest. 'And I am not in the habit of fucking Illyrian leftovers.'

She couldn't stop it, then. The tears that slid out, hot and burning.

Alone. They would leave her alone here. Her friends did not know where she had gone. She barely knew where she was.

'But-' That dissenting voice cut in again.

'Move out.'

There was no dissension after that.

And when their steps faded away, then vanished, the silence returned.

The sun and the wind and the leaves.

The blood and the iron and the soil beneath her nails.

The pain.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Frost and Starlight

“Seeing Cassian so flustered pushed away the shadows in her heart. Thoughts of the Mask became a distant rumble. 'Do you want to get in?'

He sucked in a breath, but something like pain washed over his features. 'You're hurt.'
...
'Do I look injured to you?'

He nodded toward the scabbed cuts all over her body, her face. 'Yes?”
― Sarah J. Maas, A ​Court of Silver Flames

“She'd claimed it would be fine to die for her friends, that it was fine because they had made it, they had won, but to be killed by this nobody-

Nesta snarled. She had nothing left. Her body had given up on her. Like so many others had.
...
She was alone.

She had been born alone, and would die alone, and this awful male would be the one to kill her-”
― Sarah J. Maas, A ​Court of Silver Flames

“I don't know why any of you think this is your lucky day,' he yelled back as he turned around. He shattered the arrow in his fist. 'It's really not. Not when my cloak has been ruined. And I really liked it. It was warm, and now it has godsdamn holes in it. How will that keep me warm?”
― Jennifer L. Armentrout, A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire

“The friend who puts salt on your wounds when you are injured was originally a silent enemy.”
― Kamaran Ihsan Salih

“Life and stuttering were similar. There were no shortcuts, and if you tried to force or blast through, you got badly injured.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson, Stamerenophobia

“Living with a stutter is like fighting in a battlefield. You either slay the words, or get slain by words.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson, Stamerenophobia