Close-up of a black script lettering tattoo reading Fall down seven times, stand up eight, placed on a woman's side ribs.

Script quote on the side ribs

Lettering · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A woman's bare side and ribs, with a two-line handwritten script quote in black ink reading Fall down seven times, stand up eight. The linework is fine and even, with the letters sloping gently across the skin. The warm, soft-focus background and natural tones keep the focus on the tattoo.

Lettering Ribs Script Quote Text Handwriting

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

The starter had died in the night, or so I thought when I lifted the crock lid at ten to four and smelt nothing but vinegar and cold flour. Gerda, who has run the ovens at Hollis Lane since before the council painted the shopfront, did not come to look. She was scraping the slab with a dough knife and said, without turning round, that a dead starter is only a tired one that has not been fed the right thing yet.

Keep reading

I spent the next hour finding out how wrong I was about most things. I weighed the rye with my hands stiff from the cold, and my first batch went flat as dinner plates, slumping in the tins as if they had given up on themselves. I stood there holding the tray and felt daft. Above the proving cabinet, held up by a curl of masking tape, is a card in Gerda's upright hand: Fall down seven times, stand up eight. It was her late husband's saying, she told me once, and she never said whether she meant the bread or the men.

So I fed the leaven again, twice, and set it by the radiator under a damp tea towel. At half past five I opened the oven on the third bake and the crust had split along the score like a pod in the sun, golden and loud. Gerda lifted one out with the peel, rapped the base with her knuckles and listened to it, the way other people listen to a letter on the mat. She tore off the heel, ate it standing up, and said it was not good yet, but it was getting there.

Outside, the sky over the car park went the colour of weak tea and the first bus hissed past the kerb. I was already scoring the next loaf before the light came up grey over the bins, and for once my hand did not shake.