I cut a hole in my heart and wrote with the blood.

To wound the heart is to create it.

Open your heart. Tear it apart.

The only way of touching a heart is to wound it

The mind writes with a pen, the heart, with a pencil.

I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death; and flung it back to me.

Sometimes it's like someone took a knife baby, edgy and dull And cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my soul.<p>At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet And a freight train running through the middle of my head. Only you can cool my desire. I'm on fire.

Herir al corazón es crearlo.

The censor's sword pierces deeply into the heart of free expression.

It was a large heart with lots of hearts growing smaller inside, and piercing from the outside rim to the smallest heart was an arrow.

Critical words cut like a knife. And sarcasm is the same knife with a pearl handle.

I marked myself once with a knife. I was disappearing into the adolescent sea of rage and destruction. The mark of pain assured me of my own reality. The cut could speak. It had a voice that cried out when I could not make a sound in my defense. I never made such a mark again. Instead I chose to slash art onto canvas, pencil marks onto paper, and when I could no longer carry the burden of history, I found other openings. I found stories. (p91)

I marked myself once with a knife. I was disappearing into the adolescent sea of rage and destruction. The mark of pain assured me of my own reality. The cut could speak. It had a voice that cried out when I could not make a sound in my defense. I never made such a mark again. Instead I chose to slash art onto canvas, pencil marks onto paper, and when I could no longer carry the burden of history, I found other openings. I found stories.

And a blade twitched into his heart, beginning the slow, massive bleeding he would never be able to stop, no matter what else he might accomplish. He was surprised and puzzled as he walked with that mortal wound in him, for it occurred to him that, although the wound would be the death of him, it would be the life of him too.