27 Injury Quotes

No one I met at this time - doctors, nurses, practicantes, or fellow-patients - failed to assure me that a man who is hit through the neck and survives it is the luckiest creature alive. I could not help thinking that it would be even luckier not to be hit at all.

'I really find myself doing a lot better when I'm injured, so sometimes I look forward to it. This is the style that I play-being physical, running the football, making adjustments on the pass, avoiding the rush. Those sorts of things go with the total package of a quarterback.'

One time I was singing along with a boy that looked like me in the crowd, and he pushed away the mic and started making out with me and accidentally bit my lip, and I had to get stitches.

Lao Chiu's burns were so extensive that, with the exception of his scalp, two shoulders, the waist where his leather belt was worn and the soles of his feet, pratically his whole body was affected. His back and hips were burned deeply and his right leg was even worse. Every time it was necessary to turn him over and change his dressings ten doctors and five nurses were required and the process took several hours. Moreover, the patient suffered very much and was short of breath for a long while.

'As you can possibly see, I have an injury myself - not here at the hospital, but in combat with a cedar. I eventually won. The cedar gave me a little scratch. As a matter of fact, the Colonel asked if I needed first aid when she first saw me. I was able to avoid any major surgical operations here, but thanks for your compassion, Colonel.'

. . . My best friend [as a young girl] made this mole on my face, because she would get in a fight with me and scratch me -- by the third time the scab came off the [mole] was there . . .

At the same time this is an extremely important practical application of the power of human knowledge, which may also be of immediate use to man, who, due to the implacable fortuities of life, is often mutilated in similar, though more varied ways.

[Robert Novak] apparently, they say, broke his hip. I think it's not the case. I believe his hip tried to escape.

I threw back the sheet anyway and a curse caught in my throat. Jack was in shorts, his one hand still clutching his belly in agony. The bullet went in clean, but where it came out left a hole big enough to cram a fist into.

His eyes had death in them, his and mine. His belly was bloated and I could smell the stench of a festering wound, the sickening odor of old blood impregnated into cloth. There was a wildness in his face and his mouth was a tight slash that showed all his teeth. Marv Kania was young, but right there he was as old as death itself.

The little guy's face was a bloody mess. Between the puffballs of blue-black flesh that used to be eyelids, the dull gleam of shock-deadened pupils watched Dilwick uncomprehendingly. His lips were swollen things of lacerated skin, with slow trickles of blood making crooked paths from the corners of his mouth through the stubble of a beard to his chin, dripping onto a stained shirt. Dilwick stood just outside the glare of the lamp, dangling like the Sword of Damocles over the guy's head. He was sweating too. His shirt clung to the meaty expanse of his huge neck. He pushed his beefy hand further into the leather glove and swung. The solid smack of his open hand on the little guy's jaw was nasty. His chair went over backward and his head cracked against the concrete floor of the room like a ripe melon. Dilwick put his hands on his hips and glared down at the caricature that once was human.

'Yeah, I got blown up, cut up...I remember actually, when I had to go the Ripley premiere which was happening at that time, I arrived with this huge gash in my head. Very cool, really'. - about working on Enemy at the Gates

'Matt [Damon] broke my rib! But I think I strained his neck, we got a little bit carried away'. - about his injury during Dickie's death scene in The Talented Mr. Ripley

The temperature was six below zero and it kept me dying on the spot because the blood coagulated and clotted in ugly smears of cloth and skin and the pain hadn't started yet, so when the little fat guy who saw my eyes open and still bright pulled me away from the carnage he was almost in the shock I was going into. Nobody would listen to him. He was a drunk. I was nearly dead. Sometimes the body responds to a stimulus that can't be explained. He got me upright. I walked woodenly, dyingly. I was sat in an old car. The fat man rolled down the windows. The blood stayed frozen. My hands were numb and I couldn't feel my feet. Idly, I wondered what frostbite was like. Breathing was a thing that was happening, but at a pace that said it could slow, then stop at any time. A dull, squeezing sensation of pain was beginning to gnaw on my insides and I knew that eventually, and very soon, it would grow into a terrible, devastating animal with an awful hunger and I would be eaten alive by it. I wanted to scream but nothing would come out.

Owww, have mercy!

To add insult to injury

This is a mortal wound, doctor.

'Shellito was taken off suffering from twisted blood!' (United team-mate Pat Crerand after Best had given Chelsea full-back Ken Shellito a torrid time.)

There was one young man who sat regularly in a spectator's seat about whom it was later testified that not one thread of his under or outer garments had retained its original color, so drenched were they by his own blood after a visit to Heinrich Baab in 1942.