Black and grey infinity symbol tattoo on the wrist, formed from fine lettering reading live the life you love and love the life you live.

Infinity quote tattoo on a wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white photograph of a wrist with a tattoo of an infinity symbol made from handwritten and printed lettering. The phrases live the life you love and love the life you live follow the loops of the symbol. The thin, dark linework is crisp against the skin, and the background is softly out of focus.

Lettering Fine line Forearm Infinity Infinity symbol Quote Text Script

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The river doesn't end, your grandfather liked to say, it just takes the long way round back to where it started, and you believed him for the whole of that first summer on the Thistle. Your mother had painted the two sayings on the cabin doors in green enamel, one running along the port side and one along the starboard, so that whichever way you walked the boat you were always reading something. Live the life you love. Love the life you live. You thought they were just the kind of thing people painted on barges, the way they painted roses on kettles.

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The autumn you turned seventeen you took the Thistle up through three locks and tied her at Hatch Bridge, meaning to hitch a ride to the city on the Saturday bus. You had the fare folded in your sock and a letter for a man in a print shop who had promised you an apprenticeship. At the lock-keeper's cottage a boy you didn't know was sitting on the wall, eating an apple, and he told you the canal ran in a figure of eight out past the reservoir and back, so that every boat that left the basin came home again by the other side. You didn't believe him until the bus timetable on the noticeboard showed the same route, circling back to the same stop.

You sat on the roof that night with the tin kettle and a biro, drawing the loop on the back of the ticket. The pen lifted at the crossing and left a little tail, the same curl your mother's brush used to leave on the lettering. The water below the hull was black and still. In the morning you untied the Thistle and let the current turn her, slow and patient, back toward the iron ring where she had always been waiting for you.