Quotes About Tenderness

More real , more there , like it's just the most incredible thing in the world that we're both still alive and I feel my chest get all funny and tight and I think, Here she is, right here, my Viola, she came for me, she's here- And I find myself thinking how I want to take her hand again and never let it go, to feel the skin of it, the warmth of it, hold it tight against my own hand...

But I just put my hand on the back of his neck- And he says, "Viola-?" And I pull myself toward him- And I kiss him. And it feels like, finally.

Just handle the books gently and you'll get along fine.

I spoke it soft, but close enough to brush against her lips. I spoke it quiet, but near enough so that the sound of it went twining through her hair. I spoke it hard and firm and dark and sweet.

But he was coming. He would be here soon, all sweet and brave and shattered and kind. He would come carrying and clever-fingered and oh so unaware of oh so many things. He was rough against the world, but even so...

Then, eyes closed, she brushed the smooth side of it soft across her lips. It was a tender, thoughtful motion. It was nothing like a kiss.

We lay on our sides, like spoons nesting in a drawer. My arm ended up under her head, like a pillow. She curled snugly along the inside of my body, so easy and natural, as if she had been designed to fit there. - Kvothe - The Name Of The Wind - pg 629

After a moment he reached out and brushed the unruly red hair back from his face, like a mother would with a sleeping child. Then he began to sing softly, the tune lilting and strange, almost a lullaby:

We shared an apple, passing it back and forth between bites, which is close to kissing, if you've never kissed before.

A babe whose feet smell of fresh butter, of bodily smells of pancakes and milky goodness and "where the hair makes a cowlick" smells like caramel, so sweet.

The more you see your sin, the more you will respond tenderly to other sinners and want for them the same grace you have received. And as you taste new life, you will begin to celebrate, in fresh new ways, the grace that is yours in Christ Jesus.

When you remember mercy, you are humble, thankful, and tender.

Ne hâte pas cet acte tendre, Douceur d'être et de n'être pas, Car j'ai vécu de vous attendre, Et mon coeur n'était que vos pas.

There is no cure for a bleeding heart.

Open your eyes, soldier," Tatiana said fondly, caressing his face."Are you hungry?" "I was hungry," Alexander said. "But you fed me." His body was shaking underneath his sheet.

You sweet thing," he murmured. "You're the sweetest thing. I don't know what to do, what to do, Tania." He kissed her lips

Dasha bent him to her and kissed him on the mouth. And kissed him and kissed him. And kissed him.

He soaped her like he loved her, held her like he loved her, loved her like he loved her.

Alexander raised his shaking right hand to his temple, to his lips, to his heart.

When things are shaky and nothing is working, we might realize that we are on the verge of something. We might realize that this is a very vulnerable and tender place, and that tenderness can go either way. We can shut down and feel resentful or we can touch in on that throbbing quality. (9)

O sangue viscoso do inimigo escorria pelas falgas da montanha e transformava-se em lava seca, donde brotavam diamantes de ternura.

Se Ngunga está em todos nós, que esperamos então para o fazer crescer? Como as árvores, como o massango e o milho, ele crescerá dentro de nós se o regarmos. Não com água do rio, mas com ações. Não com água do rio, mas com a que Uassamba em sonhos oferecia a Ngunga: a ternura.

There is eloquence in the tongueless wind, and a melody in the flowing brooks and the rustling of the reeds beside them, which by their inconceivable relation to something within the soul, awaken the spirits to a dance of breathless rapture, and bring tears of mysterious tenderness to the eyes, like the enthusiasm of patriotic success, or the voice of one beloved singing to you alone.

When inward tenderness Finds the secret hurt, Pain itself will crack the rock And, Ah! Let the soul emerge. — Rumi