Black script reading too beautiful for earth with a shaded grey angel wing, tattooed on the inside of a wrist.

Too beautiful for earth script and wing on a wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows the words "too beautiful for earth" in flowing black cursive lettering, with "too" and "beautiful" on the upper lines and "for earth" below. A shaded grey feathered wing sits to the right of the lettering, with soft grey gradients and dark outlines. The image is a close, slightly angled photograph of the skin with the text filling most of the frame.

Lettering Fine line Forearm Script Wing Angel Text

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

Harold Pike had the ovens lit by four, the way he always had, and flour hung in the lamplight like something not yet decided. Nell came in through the yard door with her coat buttoned wrong, late for the first time in nine years. He didn't mention it. He just nudged a tray of cooling tin loaves toward her with his elbow and kept kneading.

Keep reading

The shop had been Marjorie's before it was his. Every morning she'd chalked the same words on the board above the proving cupboard: too beautiful for earth. Customers took it for a joke about the Eccles cakes. Nell had decided it was a hymn, or a film line, or something Marjorie had heard on the wireless and liked the sound of. Harold never corrected her, because he didn't know either, and it had seemed rude to ask.

While Nell scrubbed down the marble, her hand brushed the flour bin and knocked loose a folded card. It was a recipe in Marjorie's slanted hand, for a split tin of rye, with a note underneath: score it sweeping, like a wing, so the steam has somewhere to go. Nell read it twice, then looked at Harold, who was staring at the dough as though it had said something rude.

She took the lame from its hook and drew the blade in one long curve across the top of the loaf. The crust lifted, opened, and a thin breath of steam escaped. Outside, the sky over the car park was going from black to the colour of weak tea. Harold wiped his hands on his apron and came to stand beside her. "She'd have liked that," he said, and went to chalk the board again.