A Quote by T. B. Joshua

Where there is unconditional love, the wound of one is the wound of all. — © T. B. Joshua
Where there is unconditional love, the wound of one is the wound of all.
A wound in the soul, coming from the rending of the spiritual body, strange as it may seem, gradually closes like a physical wound. And once a deep wound heals over and the edges seem to have knit, a wound in the soul, like a physical wound, can be healed only by the force of life pushing up from inside. This was the way Natasha's wound healed. She thought her life was over. But suddenly her love for her mother showed her that the essence of life - love - was still alive in her. Love awoke, and life awoke.
Who better to so softly bind the wound of one, than she who has suffered the wound herself.
If I have left a wound inside you, it is not just your wound but mine as well.
When we scratch the wound and give into our addictions we do not allow the wound to heal.
That's why I'm not to be trusted. Because a wound to the heart is also a wound to the mind
Who then can so softly bind up the wound of another as he who has felt the same wound himself.
A wound that goes unacknowledged and unwept is a wound that cannot heal.
A shaman is someone who has a wound that will not heal. He sits by the side of the road with his open wound exposed.
Da Free John's phrase kept running through my mind: "Practice the wound of love... practice the wound of love." Real love hurts; real love makes you totally vulnerable and open; real love will take you far beyond yourself; and therefore real love will devastate you. I kept thinking, if love does not shatter you, you do not know love.
A knife wound heals, but a tongue wound festers.
Every boy, in his journey to become a man, takes an arrow in the center of his heart, in the place of his strength. Because the wound is rarely discussed and even more rarely healed, every man carries a wound. And the wound is nearly always given by his father.
Deeply, he felt the love for the run-away in his heart, like a wound, and he felt at the same time that this wound had not been given to him in order to turn the knife in it, that it had to become a blossom and had to shine. That this wound did not blossom yet, did not shine yet, at this hour, made him sad. Instead of the desired goal, which had drawn him here following the runaway son, there was now emptiness.
That is the way it is with a wound. The wound begins to close in on itself, to protect what is hurting so much. And once it is closed, you no longer see what is underneath, what started the pain.
We're all writing out of a wound, and that's where our song comes from. The wound is singing. We're singing back to those who've been wounded.
A wound in a young heart is like a wound in a young tree. It does not grow out. It grows in.
But a wound unfelt is a wound unhealed.
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