Quotes About Fingertips

My fingertips are my favorite makeup brush! I especially like to apply my eye shadow with them, get it nice and smudgy. All my favorite makeup artists used their fingers to apply and their hand as a palette.

Even the blind man can see the beauty as it rides upon the sound of a voice, edge itself between the lines on his fingerprints to be spread upon the smooth snippets of life he touches.

Got your fingerprints as evidence all on my bodyPut your right hand on the book and you were found guiltyI can't wait forever but that's how it's gonna beFor me they'll never beCase Closed

The only spot of comfort was the lingering impression of her fingertips through the fabric of his shirt, a reminder of the good side of having skin. He cultivated that square-inch patch, tilled and tended it into a full-body embrace.

Watching David write was inspiring to me. He was at his most content composing. Music floated from his mind and fingertips. He would strum the 11 strings on his 12-string Harptone guitar and wander to the piano and play a few bars, then off to forage for rice pudding in the kitchen.

How could he explain it in a way Leslie would understand, how he yearned to reach out and capture the quivering life about him and how when he tried, it slipped past his fingertips, leaving a dry fossil upon the page?

Did you know that if you rub a cat's fur the wrong way with a piece of silk, you can make sparks? Little flickers of electricity conjured from your bare fingertips. it is the nearest thing to being a god. That is how I feel when I spar with you.

Ah, well,? said Abe, idly studying his fingertips. ?I have it on good authority there?s going to be a new 'gate? opening up soon over on the south side of the wall." The truth dawned on me. ?Oh lord. You?re the one who?s been doling out C4.? ?You make it sound so easy,? he said with a frown. ?That stuff?s hard to get a hold of.

Not everything about me is cute." "That's true, some things are cute. The rest are sexy. Astonishing, agonizingly sexy. It's a wonder I can get anything done at all, when all I ever think about is the way your lips taste or how your fingertips feel on my skin or how your legs are..." "Adrian, shut up.

Ah,well," Said Abe, idly studying his fingertips. "I have it on good authority there's going to be a new 'gate' opening up soon over on the south side of the wall." The truth dawned on me. "Oh lord. You're the one who's been doling out C4." "You make it sound so easy," He said with a frown. "That stuffs hard to get a hold of.

I am upset today, Lapinski, because my friend is dying... I spread my loneliness out like a fan in front of you. He is my comrade, Lapinski. Holding on to the hands of the clock with his fingertips. For me. We hang on for each other.

She could feel the logic of mechanical parts in her fingertips; this came so naturally that she could only think that other people didn't really try.

Tonight, I feel like my whole body is made out of memories. I'm a mix tape, a cassette that's been rewound so many times you can hear the fingerprints smudged on the tape.

It's too late to sleep anyway. The coffee's gone cold, so I just heat up another pot. Tonight, I feel like my whole body is made out of memories. I'm a mix tape, a cassette that's been rewound so many times you can hear the fingerprints smudged on the tape. Press play.

The hand touched my cheek again. It wasn't soft and cool like Gina's. It was warm, with calloused fingertips like those of…. ….a guitar player.

Clouds are poems, and the most moving poems linger on the blackboard so long, written in cursive so lovely, they also exist inside our fingertips. We never really erase them at the end of the lesson.

Don't you miss the world?" He is quiet; so is she. Both ride spirals of memory. "I have the whole world right here," he says, and taps the cover of Darwin. "And in my radios. Right at my fingertips.

El Capitan is the most chapping environment in the world: windy, cold, super dry. I wake up twice a night and reapply lotion to my hands. We sand our fingertips to keep them smooth.

My very fingertips rehearsed how they would work the keys of the trumpet, imagination's trumpet, when I got ready to blow it at last. The peals of that brass would be heard beyond the earth, out in space itself. When that Messiah, that savior faculty the imagination was roused, finally we could look again with open eyes upon the whole shining earth.

Have you heard of this new thing called the internet? It's giving people new expectations. It's allowing them to become their own expert. Knowledge lies anxious at their fingertips. Gloss over the truth in your advertising and you'll quickly be dismissed as a poser.

This light-shouldered boy could jitterbug, old style, and would; he was more precious than gold, yea, than much fine gold. We jitterbugged...Only the strenth in our fingertips kept us alive. If they weakened or slipped, his fingertips or mine, we'd fall spinning backward across the length of the room and out through the glass French doors to the snowy terrace, and if we were any good we'd make sure we fell on the downbeat, snow or no snow.

Her fingertips brushed the cool nanomesh of Perceval's parasite wing, and she jerked it back with a gasp, sucking her fingertips as if she'd burned them.

facilitating creation and engagement of an online kind of civil society quite literally at their fingertips.

The future is bright/colourful. Moreover, it's at your fingertips. But mind you, the choice/decision you make daily surely determines how bright/colourful your own future will become. Therefore, you've got to be mindful of your daily choices/decisions.