Quotes About Healing

but a hospital, it seemed, was a place for bodies, where bodies asserted their rights.

Never is he going to be his old self again. Never is he going to have his old resilience. Whatever inside him was given the task of mending the organism after it was so terribly assaulted, first on the road, then in the operating theatre, has grown too tired of the job, too overburdened. And the same holds for the rest of the team, the lungs, the heart, the muscles, the brain. They did for him what they could as long as they could; now they want to rest.

I hope that in the afterlife we will get a chance, each of us, to say our sorries to the people we have wronged.

Dejarme ir a mí misma, dejarte ir a ti, dejar ir a una casa todavía llena de recuerdos: es duro, pero voy aprendiendo

Douglas Moo notes that therefore, while not denying that some in the church may have the gift of healing, James encourages all Christians, and especially those charged with pastoral oversight, to be active in prayer for healing. . . . Similarly, James' promise that the Lord will raise up (egeiro) the sick person reflects the language of NT healing stories (Matt 9:6; Mark 1:31; Acts 3:7).

His cheeks were slick with tears that spilled over his diamond eyes, a ceaseless flow he neither noticed nor appeared to care about. And she had a feeling it was going to be a while before the leaking stopped-an inner artery had been nicked and this was the blood of his heart, spilling out of him, covering him.

Sometimes IVs and pills weren't always the best course of treatment for the injured. Sometimes all you needed was the touch of the one you loved and the sound of their voice and the knowledge that you were home, and that was enough to drag you back from the brink.

Then again, he supposed the healing process, in contrast to trauma, was gentle and slow... The soft closing of a door, rather than a slam.- John

Don't think I was the only reason he healed. You're his light, Marissa. Don't ever forget that.

All right, big guy, down you go. Oh,yeah. Bed. Bed was good. And look who's here. It's Nurse Vishous.

Grief . . . is a sacred way of honoring those we love.

Scars, though, left wounds on the inside of you, and as with skin that didn't heal right, you still felt the rough spots from time to time.

I can't go back, Lane. I'm sorry. I just can't." He fell silent. And then after a long while, he nodded. "All right, but can I ask you for one thing?" No. "Yes." "Just don't hate me anymore. I'm doing plenty of that on my own time.

My twin's not broken; he's ruined Do you understand the difference? With Broken maybe you can fix things; Ruined all you can do is wait to bury him -Phury to Bella

Here's what I know to be true. We can bury the past all we like. We can use a hundred thousand distractions, some of which are healthy, some of which are not, to keep it under the ground—but when something isn't processed, it will absolutely, positively come back and bite us on the ass.

I just…I love you. Even though I'm broken

Going over to their prisoner, Vishous performed a visual assessment on Xcor. When they'd brought the bastard in here, V had strapped him onto the wooden slab table face-up and spread-eagled, locking stainless-steel cuffs on those wrists and ankles and around that thick neck—and what do you know, the guy was right where he'd left him. Color was passable. Eyes were closed. Head wound at the rear of the skull was no longer leaking, having healed already.

Could the past be like this, he wondered, looking around at the empty clearing. A structure in your mind that you could burn down and get free of.

Zsadist scese dall'auto e girò intorno al baule. Dopo un secolo in cui per scelta era sempre stato a stecchetto, adesso aveva messo su dodici chili abbondanti sui suoi quasi due metri di altezza. La cicatrice in faccia restava evidente, così come le fasce che gli avevano tatuato intorno al collo e ai polsi quand'era uno schiavo di sangue, ma grazie a Bella, la sua shellan, i suoi occhi non erano più due pozzi neri d'odio. Quasi più.

Esto iba a doler, pensó Saxton. Pero esto no iba a romperlo. Finalmente lo superaría. Sanar, seguir adelante. Los corazones se rompen todo el tiempo... ¿No había una canción sobre esto?

hurt—ever. But especially not like that." God, he

No, non hai capito niente, John.» Leggendo le sue emozioni scosse la testa. «Tu non vali la metà del maschio che avresti potuto essere per colpa di quello che ti hanno fatto. Vali il doppio di chiunque altro, perché sei sopravvissuto.»

No» sibilò. Con la voce che gli risuonava nel cranio decise di ascoltare se stesso. Basta. Doveva chiuderla lì. Molto tempo prima aveva perso la testa per quella persona. No c'era motivo di perdere anche l'anima.

Great loss, like death, required time to become real. The brain needed to get trained in the absence, the never again, the there-but-now-gone. Emotions, after all, could be so strong that they could warp reality—not in the sense that mourning could resurrect what had been lost, but more like grief could sharpen recollection to such painful degrees that it was as if you could call the person to you, touch them . . . hold them.