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I have a scar on my left thigh, kind of almost near my knee. I essentially fell in the 2002 Olympics and when I hit the wall - because of the impact - my right leg kind of came in at like a knife-type angle and stabbed my leg with my own skate blade.

I have a big scar in my thigh from a dog bite by my German shepherd. His name was Ripper. He was trying to get in a fight with another dog, and I tried to break it up, and he got me pretty good.

Wounds turn into scars and scars make you tough.

I have a scar on my forehead. I was three years old, jumping on the bed with my brothers, and I fell off and hit my head on the dresser and cut it open, went to the hospital, got stitches, came home, went back on the bed, jumped with my brothers, fell again, and reopened the stitches.

In a neighborhood, as in life, a clean bandage is much, much better than a raw or festering wound.

I read in the paper that I'd slashed my wrists. But I didn't.

I have an oval-shaped scar on the knuckle of my right index finger from crashing my hand through a light fixture while practicing Elvis Presley moves in college.