Quotes About Touch

the more physical touching there is among people, the healthier the country is

Whenever I visit the United States, for example, one of the first things I notice is that no one ever touches one another, especially the men. In America, touch is perceived as sexual. At the same time, American culture overemphasizes sports, especially football, which is one of the few places where men are given permission to touch, slap, wrestle, tackle and hug one another.

South America is known as a "high contact" culture, meaning that residents stand closer to one another, touch one another more and are accustomed to more sensory stimulation than residents in, say, northern Europe, with Australians and North Americans believed to be more moderate in their cultural contact level.

His [Death] voice is cold at first, John. It seems unfeeling. But if you listen without fear, you find that when he speaks, the most ordinary words become poetry. When he stands close to you, your life becomes a song, a praise. When he touches you, your smallest talents become gold; the most ordinary loves break your heart with their beauty.

She knew she had never been truly alive until she met him, and never so happy and content with her lot until she was touched by the sorrow of him.

Looking down I saw the cat Basket touching me with one of her paws. I hadn't seen her move, though she was a good six

Love is something like the clouds that were in the sky, Before the sun came out. You cannot touch the clouds, you know; but you feel the rain and know How glad the flowers and the thirsty earth are to have it after a hot day. You cannot touch love either, But you feel the sweetness that it pours into everything.

I think I would rather possess eyes that know no sight, ears that know no sound, hands that know no touch than a heart that knows no love.

I love a hand that meets my own with a grasp that causes some sensation.

When a man loves you, you can tell by the way he touches you. His hands that have been lifting heavy objects all day turn into sensitive hands that will never hurt you.

Ive learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back.

I cannot promise very much. I give you the images I know. Lie still with me and watch. We laugh and we touch. I promise you love. Time will not take that away.

Our fingers unlace so slowly that I am certain some part of me has been left behind on her fingertips.

I have no mouth, but my hunger is fed, With glimpse, and touch, and kindness said. I have no eyes, but see a soul, The only one that makes me whole. I swell beneath a soldier's palm, Its touch my breath, my blood, my calm. I am utterly lost, but completely found, Captured, taken … a prisoner bound.

she made a purring sound in her throat and pressed into his palm

Down at the shooting range, with her fair complexion set off by her black robes and a thick braid of fiery hair falling over her shoulder, he'd had to back away and cross his arms to ensure that he would not involuntarily reach out and touch her. Having Juliet break his arm for impertinence would be a poor start to their journey.

A person could last a long while without touch, but once someone had experienced the comfort, joy, and sheer relief of another human body close, the desire to experience that again was hard to deny.

Had I been born a man I would by now have made a deep impression of myself on the world - on some part of it. But I am a woman, and God, or the Devil, or Fate, or whosoever it was, has flayed me of the thick outer skin and thrown me out into the midst of Life - has left me a lonely damned thing filled with the red, red blood of ambition and desire, but afraid to be touched, for there is no thick skin between my sensitive flesh and the and world s fingers. But I want to be touched.

The twilight struck chilly as he went outside. He experienced for the first time that special dread brought by the first touch of winter to lovers who have nowhere to meet except out of doors.

But sometimes his face would change, as if sorrow touched his shoulder, saying, "Had you forgotten me?

Hands are unbearably beautiful. They hold on to things. They let things go.

The heart is a small closed space, a symbol or souvenir of the inner life, the secret life, the silent life. It is liable to come apart if you touch it.

The side of me that feared fire and longed for ice, that cringed at noise and hungered for silence, that shied from touch and desired to numb itself into nothing.

I do not remember very many things from the inside out. I do not remember what it felt like to touch things, or how bathwater traveled over my skin. I did not like to be touched, but it was a strange dislike. I did not like to be touched because I craved it too much. I wanted to be held very tight so I would not break. Even now, when people lean down to touch me, or hug me, or put a hand on my shoulder, I hold my breath. I turn my face. I want to cry.