Quotes About Touching

It was hard to imagine that one day I would be able to recall Larry with only a neutral kind of tenderness. Now the divorce brought back memories, and thinking of Larry was like touching a bruise, tender and aching at the edges, more so at the center of its blue-black heart. The hurt was less when I didn't touch it, but time and again my mind moved back to go over it, like a tongue on a sore tooth. In

I kept thinking, confusing myself, and then I stopped and listed all of the things I was sorry for- weakness of character, rebelliousness, being disrespectful to my parents, touching Gabe and letting him touch me. Wanting to be loved too much. But my desires weren't that unreasonable, and why was my body made to want things it shouldn't want?

Sentimental, Arjuro? You of all people." "Me of all people can be as sentimental as he pleases.

Damn, Gabriel. I didn't touch her." "Your lips were on hers. That's touching," Gabriel growled. [...] "I am the Gabriel. I run this pack, and if any of them" –he looked past her to the Hound on the floor– "want to challenge me over you,all they need to is say the word." The Hound on the floor spoke up. "I turned her down." "Not because she lacks anything," Gabriel growled.

Times might have changed, to be sure, but butchery, which required touching dead animals, was still a shameful occupation—the chief reason given as to why the matchmaker had such difficulty arranging an omiai for him—and Tanaka couldn't help but feel a kind of kinship with foreigners

Memory is a Polaroid camera, where from the negative of the film of bad impressions, from the emptiness of nothingness, a touching nostalgia manifests itself.

Memory is a Polaroid camera, where touching nostalgia manifests itself from the negative of the film of bad impressions, from the void of nothingness.

Raphael's pleasure, his kiss, sent her over a second time....and it wasn't until they both stirred again that Raphael reached down and undid the strap of her knife sheath, putting it and the knife on the bedside table. "Beautiful as this sheath is," he said, touching the leather, "I much prefer the one which holds my blade.

Breguswith was everywhere, touching everything, assessing, organising, nudging, anticipating.

Yes, I cried at the end of it. I did then, and I have every time since. Even a reading of the story aloud will bring tears to my eyes. In my opinion, anyone who isn't moved by it is less than human inside.