Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Tatters. 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 Tatters Quotes And Sayings by 96 Authors including Patrick Rothfuss,Ronald Kessler,Ian Mcewan,Criss Jami,Rae Z. Ryans for you to enjoy and share.
Belt leather. Black pepper. Fine lace and bright feather. Tinker in town tonight, gone tomorrow. Working through the evening light. Come wife. Come daughter, I've small cloth and rose water.
Tact ops is a unit which breaks into homes and offices to plant bugging devices. They get into mafia hangouts, they go into embassies, they go into terrorist hangouts, and they describe themselves as court-sanctioned burglars.
Not blemishes. Adornments.
Stretched and skewed
Tap of the 8-ball and the cue
Scratches fall through
They are the scars of you
The welts and scars left behind were pieces of me.
Thou art a very ragged Wart.
While the archetype of the tinker is generally the whipping person in classical bedtimes stories, this particular individual was a tinker by trade and just happened to be economically disadvantaged.
Tattoos, after all, are a passionate, usually doomed assertion of mastery of your own destiny, or at least a defiant embrace of one that you cannot control.
What's with all those tattoos? Makes you look like a hooligan."
"I suspect I am a hooligan.
The itch of scribbling.
The clip-joints are filled every night with marks who crave the tat," said one con man. "If you gave one of them an even break, it would spoil his evening.
The tatters of old stories are tangled, weathered, muted by long-held silences that succeeded loud feuds, and sometimes no doubt re-dyed a more flattering color.
I sort of tend to equate tattoos with prisoners, punks or people with a high level of self-confidence. I don't necessarily have a covered-in-tattoos personality.
Filthy, mucky tools: filthy, mucky work. Clean, beautiful tools: clean, beautiful work.
A like N.B. that Ewell ends up inserting under the heading Biker is that every professional tattooist everybody who can remember getting their tattoos remembers getting them from was, from the sound of everybody's general description, a Biker.
Some of us can begin to heal the damage people have done to us by escaping the situation, but some of us need more than that. Tattoos make statements that need to be made. Or hide things that are no one's business. Your scars are battle wounds, but you don't see them that way. Yet.
Who Stole the Tarts?
People stagger, but they pick up a tattered thread and wind it back onto a spool.
I'm nineteen tree rings and mashed acorns stop up my veins when I can't clot. Oh god, you beautiful person, I'll let you lick the salt off of my tattoos as if they were wounds, wounds made of ink and stories.
Meaning to ask, where'd all them scratches come from? Lookin like you had yourself a knife fight with a dwarf, aye?
The tattooed nation will live to regret this voluntary disfigurement.
The universality of tattooing is a curious subject for speculation.
Tip thought this strange Army bore no weapons whatever; but in this he was wrong. For each girl had stuck through the knot of her back hair two long, glittering knitting-needles.
Twi-moms! I love them, the little cougars!
One can grow accustomed to carrying unseeable scars, as if the tattoo one wears is inked in flesh tone over flesh tone; but nevertheless one is still covered in secret, painted with secret, stained by it.
systematically looking at each of the fly-covered tattoos on one of the walls.
We were the neoromantic dance freaks of the eighties, proudly displaying our blow-dried mullets. Among us, you also found the stud-bracelet-wearing punk rockers with sky-high Mohawks. Pastel-colored, shoulder-padded fashion met ripped-jeans-and-leather-jacket anti-fashion.
I'm covered with loser dust.
The German word for tatting is Schiffchenarbeit meaning 'the work of the little boat
I don't have any tattoos.
There are no stronger fetters than those we forge for ourselves.
We're freaks, that's all. Those two bastards got us nice and early and made us into freaks with freakish standards, that's all. We're the tattooed lady, and we're never going to have a minute's peace, the rest of our lives, until everybody else is tattooed, too.
You're getting a tattoo? What is going on with you, Abby? Did you breathe toxic fumes in that fire?
My tattoos remind me of all that I have been through.
Tacky T-shirts that said things like "My crazy Grandma traveled to India and all I got was this lousy T-shirt." They
Tattoos were self-expression at its rawest and most permanent form. They weren't for one set of people or another.
Terplash, & what difference make! One little white spark of light! Hair woven hands Penelope seaboat smeller
Is Virgin you trying to fathom me Tiresome old sea, aint you sick & tired of all of this merde? this incessant boom boom & sand walk
Truth is tarter than taradiddles; and nothing is tarter, terser, than truth on the track of tired trash in a trance.
My little cup brims with tiddles.
Tenterhooks are the upholstery of the anxious seat.
Terplash, & what difference make! One little white spark of light! Hair woven hands Penelope seaboat smeller
Is Virgin you trying to fathom me Tiresome old sea, aint you sick & tired of all of this merde? this incessant boom boom & sand walk
Tic Tacs are the maracas of breath mints.
My tattoos are reminders to hang in there when things get rough.
I'm a shabby dresser.
Everyone asks about how I'll feel about the tattoos and scars in thirty years. I always say: "I'll like them." I've always loved damaged monuments, in architecture and in humans.
Tattoos are so widespread, so ugly and so very, very permanent. You can, in theory, have them removed - but a large chunk of your living flesh will go with it.
A blank is the only thing I draw well. --T-SHIRT
There are some people who leave impressions not so lasting as the imprint of an oar upon the water.
Darlin', everyone has scars.
Failure is a bruise. Not a tattoo.
Teflon Panty Club
fiddlesticks" and
Yanking at my leg, straining every muscle, my customized Gray Ghost rebuilt as a chopper sparks and squeals.
My boot catches and I'm flipped. Sliding down E-70 Highway on leather, my gloves scrubbed by the tarmac.
We're like socks. You can put us through a rough wash once, but you'll never use us again.
Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Tattoos tell stories of crime and passion, punishment and regret. They express an outlaw, antiauthoritarian point of view and communicate a romantic solidarity among society's outcasts.
I have scars on the backs of my arms from dressers in Paris scraping me with pins as I was taking a shirt or gown off.
I basically - I don't like tattoos, unless you're a firefighter who has a tattoo that has to do with that or a military guy. That's - those are people who should have tattoos.
One who dresses in rags that have been washed clean dresses cleanly to be sure, but raggedly nonetheless.
What's got your jockstrap in a wad? (Abbie)
This was a place where tattoos outnumbered teeth.
Snooty high heels.
from the poem: MANNEQUINS THAT SWEAT BLACK INK AND NEVER HAVE ANY FUN
If you put a twizzler in your ear it looks like your ear is vomiting blood.
Dirtyhands had come to see the rough work done.
A mark on one arm like the one I bore. Here, in this time, the mark of sorcery, the mark of a magus. The small, homely scar of a smallpox vaccination.
I had a sudden understanding of tattooing's true appeal: It's
Troll-collecting for biker types.
To whomever swapped my tattoo cream for toothpaste ... well played.
great big huge titties
Bands
enough with the crayon face-paint
you're better than that.
O scaly, slippery, wet, swift, staring wights, What is 't ye do? what life lead? eh, dull goggles? How do ye vary your vile days and nights? How pass your Sundays? Are ye still but joggles In ceaseless wash? Still nought but gapes and bites, And drinks, and stares, diversified with boggles.
We all originally came from the woods! it is hard to eradicate from any of us the old taste for the tattoo and the war-paint; and the moment that money gets into our pockets, it somehow or another breaks out in ornaments on our person, without always giving refinement to our manners.
We could not salvage our clothes; we threw them away and changed into fresh uniforms. We even abandoned our boots. Maggots had worked their way into nooks and crannies of our shoes and occasionally fell onto the floor.
Early in my career, having many visible tattoos created obstacles and presented quite a challenge to move forward. I've heard comments like, 'actors don't have tattoos.' The notion of typecasting was a reoccurring theme despite my passion toward creativity and personal expression.
people; 'Manners like a creased polyester shirt
What happens when all we have in common are the scars on our wrists?
Even the leftover carats of tar in the gutter, so black they seemed to suck
the light out of the air.
By nightfall kids had come across them: every sidewalk on the block was
scribbled with obscenities and hearts.
What you mons making all the racket about? You wake me again and I'll put the voodoo hex on you. All you only call me Tuberculosis behind my back now. You want the real thing?" Sergeant "T. B" Tinkerbelle Bettina Jones.
My tattoo was tied to them. Another mystery I needed to figure out.
This is my trademark: I rip my T-shirt. I'm into the whole showing-a-bit-of-chest-hair thing.
Tattoos are cool. I probably won't ever get any
Its wounds are as fresh as the wounds of the men who carved
Sweating like a fat woman in a sauna, nun with a tattoo on her tit, overweight jockey.
The preacher said, "She looks tar'd.' "Women's always tar'd,' said Tom. "That's just the way women is, 'cept at meetin' once an' again.
I am only known for my boobs and tats.
And there's a special place in shiva hell reserved for men in sandals, their cracked, hardened toenails, dark with fungus, proudly on display.
Tattoos exude pain and pleasure all at the same time.
I don't have any tattoos - I live vicariously through my sister, Langley, who has many. If I can't stick to one ensemble, I don't think I could stick to one tattoo.
My soul is like my worn-out Van Gogh t-shirt; threadbare and full of holes
Jaded. I never understood the term. Jade is pretty and worth something, yes? I was rusted if I was anything. Too long in the rain. Going out in an orange blaze of muted, anonymous, common-as-dirt oxidation.
Eddies of dry wind whipped tatters of cloth and reed paper about in dancing circles.
Apparently their numerous tattoos gave them protection against the cold as they had no coats.
A wilderness of gilt, gleaming in the slant from the dust-furred windows: gilded cupids, gilded commodes and torchieres, and
undercutting the old-wood smell
the reek of turpentine, oil paint, and varnish.
The cold is waiting to ooze through the soles of your shoes. Maggot-damp, this city is festering: home to hollow faces of grey flesh. They stare from windows unclean, into the sun never reaches: dismal lives lived in dismal constriction.
The paint has a skin to it, here taut and glossy, there wrinkled, abraded, scarred. It is pierced, abraded, scraped. A line drawn through it will go through half a dozen states, from the furry bloom of crusted charcoal to a blind furrow, cutting a channel in to soft paint below.
The Classic Notting Hill junkie, i.e; Armani underwear, Pink's shirt and Burberry belt tourniquets
Everyone has scars, Tenley.
If we're lucky, they're only on the outside".
Neat little boys in neat little shirts, so earnest and wholesome, but hidden underneath their faces were old hags, skin pitted with acid.
To fine folkes a little ill finely wrapt.
There is nothing quite as unpleasant as wearing a pair of briefs which have been trailed through a Calcutta courtyard. Nothing, that is, except having one's elbows and knees lacerated by unseen slivers of glass and discarded razor blades.
The gay motes that people the sunbeams.