Quotes About Hands

Twentieth-century man needs to be reminded at times that work is not the result of the Fall. Man was made to work, because the God who made him was a "working God." Man was made to be creative, with his mind and his hands. Work is part of the dignity of his existence. —Sinclair Ferguson

My father spoke with his hands. He was deaf. His voice was in his hands. And his hands contained his memories.

dar ruzgare fetneh,dastha por kolah va sarha bikolah ast

You'll have to excuse me," Susan went on, wiping her hands self-consciously on her jeans. "The place is a mess, but I guess that's what happens when you have children.

Relief and something like joy flew up inside Trevor's chest. They give us these miracles, these pardons, so generously, he thought; they crush our spirits like crashing boulders only to hold open their hands to give us jewels.

He put his hands

There's a girl on the beach at high tide, lighting up the sea with her hands. The girls from the convent watch her from the clifftop. She's waded into the ocean up to her waist, higher. She's not even wearing a bathing suit - just jeans and a black cardigan. And she's setting the sea on fire.

I consider 'Dr. Horrible' a tremendous success. The fact that it won an Emmy I just think lends validity to what we were doing and the point we were trying to make: taking the power into someone else's hands and changing the world.

I like that library books have secret lives. All those hands that have held them. All those eyes that have read them.

When my father first took me to Ennis Library I went down among the shelves and felt company, not only the company of writers, but the readers too, because they had lifted and opened and read these books. The books were worn in a way they can only get worn by hands and eyes and minds

The animals' neural pathways have woven themselves into a new map that corresponds to the new arrangement of nerves in their hands. At first, he can't believe what he's seen. Like every other neuroscientist, he's been taught that the structure of the adult brain is fixed.

You searched through all my poets, From Sappho through to Auden, I saw the book fall from your hands, As you slowly died of boredom.

now, with too much idle time on his hands, he was a lost boy.

Her hands were gloved, small for her height-she was five six or seven-and her movements as clean as a poem. I was surprised and not sure why. She felt my gaze and looked up. Grey-blue eyes, soft as dove feathers.

I rubbed glistening liquid onto the armrests and imagined the hands that would touch the wood, perhaps resting there between turning the pages of a book, perhaps stroking the smooth wood, absently at first, then slipping a bit as the owner slept.

His eyes were as liquid as run honey, dark clover honey, and his hair was a rich brown with bronze sun straks, but his beard, like his eyebrows, was black. His face and hands were the colour of walnut, or perhaps elm bark, but lighter where his sleeves rose above his wrists. He was not thick-boned and heavy-muscled like Cei, but whippy as a hazel rod, and she knew she would not face him lightly in battle.

I looked at my hands, turned them over in the tarnished shine of streetlights seeping through a crack in the curtains. They were long; strong and competent with nicely shaped nails; hard enough for a palm strike, soft enough to trace gentle arabesques on a taut trembling stomach or along a soft inner thigh. The stains did not show.

It is enough for beauty to touch our tedium for our heart to be torn like silk between the hands of life.

And at last he began prancing up and down and rubbing his hands, and humming and murmuring, and putting his fist to his mouth blew a march on it as on a trumpet, and even uttered aloud a few encouraging words and nicknames addressed to himself, such as "bulldog" and "little cockerel.

must confess that I do not understand why things are so arranged, that women should seize us by the nose as deftly as they do the handle of a teapot. Either their hands are so constructed or else our noses are good for nothing else.

it was the fault of the hands, they and not any other part of the body had done the taking. Be that as it may, the timidity inseparable from him to begin with increased still more. Perhaps this very event was the reason why he never had any wish to enter the civil service, seeing from experience that it was not always possible to keep the lid on things.

Hey you, feasting at the table on the shore,with bread on your plate, clothes on your body. Someone from the water beckons you, beating the heavy tide with his exhausted hands... --translated by Kayvan Tahmasebian and Rebecca Ruth Gould

Clothes are not meant to make people think about what is under the clothes. Clothes are meant to direct attention to what is not under them: merciful hands that serve others in the name of Christ, beautiful feet that carry the gospel where it is needed, and the brightness of a face that has beheld the glory of Jesus.

When you go into court you are putting your fate into the hands of twelve people who weren't smart enough to get out of jury duty.