Quotes About Hands

And personally, one of the secrets I guess you can say with success on HGTV, for not only myself and a lot of other individuals who have shows, is that we truly do love what we do. We're passionate about real estate. We love design. We love seeing transformations. We love working with our hands.

Art has been good for my soul. And it's been good for my brain. I think I'm a better painter now than I was a musician growing up. You struggle to see things and translate an image through your hands to a canvas.

Men of perverse opinion do not know the excellence of what is in their hands, till some one dash it from them.

He placed the soul in the body which He had fashioned. He protects the Creation which He has created. With their eyes, they see, and with their tongues, they speak; with their ears, they bring the mind to awareness. With their feet, they walk, and with their hands, they work; they wear and eat whatever is given.

No matter how much restitution she paid with every word and deed, her blood-stained hands could never really be clean, even if no one else knew they were dirty.

La multitud de manos claras, nerviosas y siempre en actitud de espera en torno al tapete verde, todas asomando por la caverna de su respectiva manga, cada una de forma y color diferentes, algunas desnudas, otras adornadas con anillos y pulseras tintineantes, muchas velludas como animales salvajes, muchas otras húmedas y retorcidas como anguilas, y todas, sin embargo, crispadas y trémulas por una enorme impaciencia.

May the Almighty grant that the cause of truth, justice, and humanity, shall in no wise suffer at my hands.

Truth is, it's a relief to finally put my life in the hands of someone I trust.

For this wire is as a part of our body, as a vein torn from us, glowing with our blood. Are we proud of this thread of metal, or of our hands which made it, or is there a line to divide these two?

She was a natural blonde, with delicate hands and feet, and in her youthful photographs one saw a girl with mocking eyes and a tragic smile, the course of whose life would conspire in time to transpose that pair of adjectives.

she deferred to her partner, to the virtuoso hands of Gwen Shanks, freaky-big, fluid as a couple of tide-pool dwellers, cabled like the Golden Gate Bridge.

They look like good, strong hands.

There is an intimacy to carrying someone else's blood on your hands, in seeing their eyes as they realize the sharp and finite limit to how much more of the world they themselves will see.

IT IS THE colour of a bleached skull, his flesh; and the long hair which flows below his shoulders is milk-white. From the tapering, beautiful head stare two slanting eyes, crimson and moody, and from the loose sleeves of his yellow gown emerge two slender hands, also the colour of bone, resting on each arm of a seat which has been carved from a single, massive ruby.

In the desert the most loved waters, like a lover's name, are carried blue in your hands, enter your throat. One swallows absence.

Water is the exile, carried back in cans and flasks, the ghost between your hands and your mouth.

She lights a match in the dark hall and moves it onto the wick of the candle. Light lifts itself onto her shoulders. She is on her knees. She puts her hands on her thighs and breathes in the smell of the sulphur. She imagines she slap breathes in light.

After a week in front of the screen, the opportunity to work with my hands—with all my senses, in fact—is always a welcome change of pace, whether in the kitchen or in the garden. There's something about such work that seems to alter the experience of time, helps me to reoccupy the present tense. I don't want you to get the idea it's made a Buddhist of me, but in the kitchen, maybe a little bit. When stirring the pot, just stir the pot.

My father is a very skilled carpenter. He can do just about anything with his hands. He is very artistic with his carpentry.

Love is not love that wounded bleeds And bleeding sullies slow. Come death within my hands and I Unto my love will go.

I love your hands,' he sighed. 'You think I look like an angel? Well, Kitten, your hands are my heaven and your eyes are my home.'" (Bones)

I felt it very moving to feel his touch, and to remember that hands can also show love.

Eventually, mercifully, the waitress prised the spoons out of our hands and took the dessert stuff away, and we were able to stumble zombielike out into the night.

Women are much better than men in tactile sensitivity with their fingers, but possibly only because they have smaller hands and, therefore, a denser network of receptors.