A Quote by Nobu Matsuhisa

Once I fell out of a tree and was hit by a motorbike. I still have the scar on my head now. — © Nobu Matsuhisa
Once I fell out of a tree and was hit by a motorbike. I still have the scar on my head now.
When I was five, a tree was my best friend. An old peppercorn on Grandpa's little farm. I'd haul myself into its calloused arms and hide from the world in its foliage. Apart from the pleasure of looking down on unsuspecting adults, I could be Robin Hood in a one-tree Sherwood Forest or Johnny Weissmuller in his jungle. I fell out of my friend once while Tarzan-ing. Gashed a large chunk from a leg. Almost 70 years later, there's still a scar.
Mickey Cray had been out of work ever since a dead iguana fell from a palm tree and hit him on the head.
I have a scar on my forehead. I was three years old, jumping on the bed with my brothers, and I fell off and hit my head on the dresser and cut it open, went to the hospital, got stitches, came home, went back on the bed, jumped with my brothers, fell again, and reopened the stitches.
The last time someone dried my hair for me was in sixth grade, when i broke my arm." "How did you break it?" "I fell out of a tree." "You fell out of a tree?" "I think there was a boy and a dare involved." "Ah.
...you look like you fell out of a crazy tree and hit every branch on the way down.
The only way a no-legged leopard could hurt you is if it fell out of a tree onto your head.
My teammate in college, Melissa Jones, lost her sight in one eye. Hers wasn't a hit to the eye; she fell and hit her head on the court, and then someone fell on her.
The troubles of the young are soon over; they leave no external mark. If you wound the tree in its youth the bark will quickly cover the gash; but when the tree is very old, peeling the bark off, and looking carefully, you will see the scar there still. All that is buried is not dead.
No matter where its seed fell, it made a tree which struggled to reach the sky. It grew in boarded-up lots and out of neglected rubbish heaps, and it was the only tree that grew out of cement. It grew lushly, but only in the tenements districts.... That was the kind of tree it was. It liked poor people.
A scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. A scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.
Every year before a big competition, I get hurt doing stuff I should not be doing. One year it was my little brother's 12th birthday. We all played hide-and-seek late at night. I climbed up a 30-foot tree, thinking he'd never catch me. I tripped and fell on one of the branches and I hit my head.
I completely fell in love with riding horses. I really didn't want to wear a helmet when I would go off with the trainer on weekends, galloping through forests and stuff. But thank God he made me, because one time, I was going under a tree and my helmet hit a branch. It literally would have taken my head off.
I spend a lot of time sizing up a tree before I fell it. Once it's down, I clear away the brush around the tree before I start cutting it into lengths so I won't trip and lose my balance with the chain saw running.
Silence fell between them, as tangible as the dark tree shadows that fell across their laps and that now seemed to rest upon them as heavily as though they possessed a measurable weight of their own.
When I was 11 I had to umpire a game. I got hit in the head and got knocked out. The ball was hit straight back, hit the bail and knocked my head.
As I've gotten older, now I've really got to back that up with record sales. Anytime showed me that I could still have some of those elements I wanted, but you still have to come with hit after hit after hit.
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