Colour tattoo on a thigh of a pink rose with green leaves under a blue glass dome, with the black lettered words Beauty is found within arching above it.

Rose under a glass dome with quote on thigh

Thigh · Mixed · Photo

A pink rose with green stem and leaves sits inside a blue glass dome, outlined in black with soft blue shading on the glass. Black hand-lettered text reading Beauty is found within curves across the top of the design. The tattoo is photographed straight on against pale skin and a wooden floor, with the dome centred on the thigh.

Thigh Rose Quote Lettering Leaves

Find an artist for this

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

Brother Anselm had the bell jar from the cellarer's store, a blue glass thing shaped like a church bell that someone had donated after a house clearance in Wells. He set it over a single rose cutting in the cold frame and told nobody why, except Prior Edwin, who asked nothing and only nodded at the dew on the glass.

Keep reading

The rose had come from a sickly bush behind the infirmary, the one the old gardener swore was dead. Every morning I lifted the dome, checked the soil with my thumb, and set it back down with the care you would use on a sleeping novice. The brothers teased me for it. Brother Tobias said I was building a shrine to a thorn. I told him a thorn could be as holy as anything, provided it kept its head down through a hard winter.

By March the cutting had put out three leaves, then a fourth, and the stem had gone red at the tip. I began to worry less about the frost and more about the village boys who came up the lane on Saturdays to pick flowers for their mothers. One of them, a freckled lad called Wat, pressed his nose to the glass and asked whether the rose was locked in there because it was precious or because it was dangerous.

I told him the truth, which was that I did not yet know which. He considered this, decided I was a fool, and ran off. By midsummer the rose had opened, pale pink at the edges, and I lifted the dome for the last time, not to check the soil but to let the wind in. It was only a rose after all, and it was ready to be one.