Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Deformed. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Deformed Quotes And Sayings by 96 Authors including Nathan Hill,David Walliams,Daniel Campbell,Gabriella Poole,Julia Golding for you to enjoy and share.
a trauma that breaks you into brand new pieces.
The loose skin on her face had been lifted. Her nose was smaller. Her teeth were capped. The lines on her forehead had been erased. Her eye bags had disappeared. Her wrinkles had gone. Her breasts were much, much bigger. But she was still limping.
You bore ne rigid.
That boy will be horribly deformed by the time he leaves this school."
"He will?" said Cassie.
"From being twisted round Katerina's little finger so often.
cases and stretched
He's very pretty. For a human."
"He's very broken," said Magnus. "Like a lovely vase that someone has smashed. Only luck and skill can put it back together the way it was before.
Underneath the mass of fused tendrils he could make out the shape of a head, wide shoulders, a massive chest and arms, like the creature was stuck waist deep in the earth. No, not stuck - rising.
bent ostentatiously to her work.
His brittle, yellowed bones were splintered, crushed and shattered.
Her spine was the crease on a piece of paper, her bones no more than diagonal folds on a bit of origami
Physical deformity, calls forth our charity. But the infinite misfortune of moral deformity calls forth nothing but hatred and vengeance.
ANIENTED (A'NIENTED) adj.[anneantir, Fr.]Frustrated; brought to nothing.
How can you break that which bends?
Its face crinkled up grotesquely, the eyes narrowing like those of a laughing Buddha, the lips peeling back to expose a sickle of brilliant teeth.
His hair fell out, his face went gaunt as a skeleton.
Tall and skinny, with arms and legs sticking out at odd angles, as if [they] were made of drinking straws instead of flesh and bone.
Jaska straightened, though his whole person seemed to wilt.
A foot of steel looks as if it has been transformed into warm butter and gouged by the fingers of a child,
Are you badly hurt?"
"Hideously," said the king, without sounding injured at all. "I am disemboweled. My insides may in an instant become my outsides as I stand here before you.
We prefer to go deformed and distorted all our lives rather than not resemble the portrait of ourselves which we ourselves have first drawn. It's absurd. We run the risk of warping what's best in us
Squeezed back. Or, more likely, someone
Some people were born to the shape they would occupy all their lives.
("Wait")
It was as if a tiny crack had opened somewhere in him and was growing, tearing him to pieces. If he had simply been angry, I might have found a way to calm him, but I had no idea how to put him back together once he came apart.
There are men from whom nature or some peculiar destiny has removed the cover beneath which we hide our own madness. They are likethin-skinned insects whose visible play of muscles seem to make them deformed, though in fact, everything soon turns to its normal shape again.
I was going to break from the inside out if he didn't bend me into nameless shapes
My Spirit reshaped amongst the millions
She is a woman of muscle twisted around bone.
A face that is really lovely in repose can fall apart if, when its owner stars to talk, she distorts every feature.
Somtimes you lie in a strange room, in a strange person's home, and you feel yourself bending out of shape. Melting, touching something hot, something that warps you in drastic and probably irreversible ways you won't get to take stock of until its too late
Her lips were tightly glued together, her chin protruding, her whole layout that of a girl who intended to stand no rannygazoo.
Disembodied limbs
He couldn't say the words, had spent too long in Silence, but he'd learned other ways to speak. Taking the paperweight she'd knocked off her desk out of his pocket, he put it in her hands. It's fixed. As long as you don't mind more than a few scars.
the wrinkled sleeve of the head
What is a face really? It's own photo? It's makeup? Or is it a face as painted by such or such painter? That which is in front? Inside? Behind? And the rest? Doesn't everyone look at himself in his own particular way? Deformations simply do not exist.
Bent
like the branches of a tree
broken
like the pieces of my heart
cracked
like the seventeenth moon
shattered
like the glass in the window
the day we met
We are in here not to correct the deformation but to accustom ourselves to it:
Pressed into service means pressed out of shape.
this word needs to be reworded ==========
The girl's pretty little-girl face had deformed, lips stretching wide, becoming like the mouth of a flukeworm, a ragged pink hole encircled with teeth going all the way down her gullet. Her tongue was black, and her breath stank of old meat.
As a stick, when once it is dry and stiff you may break it, but you can never bend it into a straighter posture; so doth the man become incorrigible who is settled and stiffened into vice.
What bends, can break.
I shrank from the faces and forms by which I was surrounded. They were all fixed faces, full not of possibilities but impossibilities,
presentation, she looked drawn, as old as the limestone hills behind her property. Her facial skin was marbled, hair greying at the roots. She had grown frail, as though she might disintegrate at the first touch; she was a desiccated, vulnerable shadow of her former self and it was hard to
Impressive, isn't it?" Divan says with pride. "I purchased it from a Brazilian artist, who has apparently made a career working in flesh. He claims his artwork is to protest unwinding, but I ask you, how much of a protest can it be if he uses the unwound for his art?
Yield and you need not break. Bent, you can straighten. Emptied, you can hold. Torn, you can mend.
soul it shaped. Laurel
Yielding, like ice about to melt.
A face that looked like it had been whittled out of driftwood.
Even his stalwart manhood seemed to have shrunk somewhat under
My purpose is to tell of bodies that have been changed into shapes of different kinds.
Do not fold, spindle or mutilate.
Everything you touch turns to broken.
There is no deformity But saves us from a dream.
Though this child came in with nothing but excess baby fat, chemical brain waves, and mother and son bodily toxins on his legs, he had a fate fit for a modern day demigod.
Yet each day, he managed to unravel and straighten himself, disgusted and thankful. Wrecked, but somehow not torn into pieces.
Stretched to the breaking point by all that now stood between them, but at the same time refusing to break.
I am like a broken puppet whose eyes have fallen inside.
The partial becomes complete; the crooked, straight; the empty, full; the worn out, new.
Case gasped as his internal organs were pulled into a different configuration.
You made me feel less alone;
you made me feel not quite so
deformed, uninformed and hunchbacked.
I am in a very unsettled condition, as the oyster said when they poured melted butter all over his back.
I burn, I freeze; I am never warm. I am rigid; I forgot softness because it did not serve me.
Size without shape is grotesque.
I am shrunken and shriveled inside, a rotten chestnut hidden beneath a deceptively smooth shell
Wrapped in the scent of her warm, tempting skin? When a human is ... transformed
When everything's twisted, what's normal ends up looking weird too.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.
If you reshape yourself to fit a mold, then you are no longer an original work of art.
the skin was yellow, the eyes slightly slanted;
...a fissure appeared. Splinters of plastic broke away around it, and the fissure widened, radiating further fractures.
When the first leg broke out, Simon tried to shriek.
I am the shape you made me.
Filth teaches filth.
Then kindly recall that variation is not the same as deformity.
Upped but mentally disjointed.
My father did shape me. He didn't drive because he had one leg, and for years I never drove. I had no mobility.
face grew longer and grimmer as Berel
In a world of hunchbacks, a fine figure becomes a monstrosity.
Fear made her seem ill; it distorted her body lines, made her appear as if someone had broken her, and then, with malice, patched her together badly.
Oh, I'm bowed, but unbroken.
A twisted, pale figure writhing in agony, chest bare and hideous. Tight, rigid cords of sickly green veins webbed across the boy's body and limbs, like ropes under his skin. Purplish bruises covered the kid, red hives, bloody scratches. His bloodshot eyes bulged, darting back and forth.
Simple, like uncarved wood.
Umbed by disappointment and betrayal, like a child who had been awakened suddenly from a summer dream about christmas morning.
Those who resist positive change will find themselves deformed, but those who embrace it will find themselves transformed.
Her body, the nucleic force of the furious scribble, was absolutely out of control: slipping and falling and flaking off, gaining much, losing little.
The world pauses for royalty and deformity alike, and sometimes one can't tell the difference.
I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.
I'm still a little bent, a little crooked, but all things considered, I can't complain.
Mashed-in nose, half of one ear missing, eyes the color of rotting squash.
He was flabbergasted. That was the best word. His flabber had been thoroughly gasted.
The unformed is not worse than the over-formed. The former is nothing; the latter is mere appearance. Real form presupposes real life.
They were a tangle of limbs on the bed, limbs and f lesh and bodies entwined so fully, joined so deeply, that it was as if they were sealed together. The heat had melted and merged them. They weren't even human now, but sex in its rawest, purest form.
I became as hard as whipcord, but with a brain like cottonwool.
All that materializes dematerializes.
Out of the debris of a statue thoroughly shattered a new art work is born: a naked foot unforgettably resting on a stone; a candid hand; a bent knee which contains all the speed of the foot race; a torso which has no face to prevent us from loving it.
discombobulated around
Stretched and skewed
Tap of the 8-ball and the cue
Scratches fall through
They are the scars of you
Everything in the room is like that: unnecessarily solid, abnormally heavy and dangerously sharp.
I don't know how it happened, and I don't know why, but this
what she and I have
it's solid. You don't need to worry about her. I'd rather cut off my own arms than hurt a single purple hair on her head. I'll look after her.
Sometimes broken things heal crooked. The pieces didn't fit anymore.
Disordered clumps, wrongly beautiful, like a scan of a damaged brain
You were a crushed and broken thing, like a butterfly crumpled in the hand of a child.