Quotes About Touch

Suddenly I was struck with the strangest sensation, of wanting, needing, to reach out and touch his cheek with the back of my hand. So he would know, so he would feel exactly how much those words meant to me. Because sometimes words were so pitifully inadequate, and I knew that, but I had to try anyway.

Every man that ever got to touch me was afforded an honor. A privilege." Stormy waves her hand over me. "All this? It's a privilege to worship at this temple, do you understand my meaning? Not just any young fool can approach the throne.

A soul was like a worm in an apple, my mother told me. Sometimes you went your whole life without knowing you had one and then suddenly it appeared. In Africa, the soul has the same shape as the body but cannot be seen. At night, it travels through the world while a person dreams. But it returns to the body the moment a sleeping person is touched.

Objects create happiness. The animals are pleased to be of use. Your cities will shine forever. Death will not touch you.

I've been writing more songs in my head," he said, "about being a ghost and a shade." His face turned smooth and solemn. "How I'd die all over again just to touch you.

Zachary leaned in, and I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead he pressed his cheek to mine and held it there. It felt more intimate than a kiss.

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.

Still... I would have hugged my mother if we were the kind of family who hugged. If touching her weren't impossible. If her subnightie waft was not so utterly, fatally repulsive. That's how much I loved her.

In the dying firelight, Benedict's face was relaxed in sleep. He was so handsome, so perfect. She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead and he did not stir with the motion. She smiled, but the expression faded as a strong desire welled up in her. A desire to do something she had never done before. She touched him again, to be certain he was not awake. When he didn't move or react, she leaned closer, her hands shaking. "I love you

How various is a face; but an hour ago it was strange and it is now touched with a tenderness that comes, not from it, but from out of the night, the world and the blood, all these things seem to shine in it together.

After a few moment he reached for her wrist and felt her pulse fade to nothing, like the rumble of a receding train.

He felt the long light body, warm against him, comforting against him, abolishing loneliness against him, magically, by a simple touching of flanks, of shoulders and of feet, making an alliance against death with him.

I put my arm around her and felt our hearts beating through our sweaters and I brought my right hand up and felt her neck smooth and the hair thick against it under my fingers that were shaking.

And when we haven't been touched in years, we are more vulnerable to the kindness of strangers.

Her eyes . . . What's the colour of her eyes . . . ? JEAN : Misty eyes . . . no, black . . . no, very bright . . . and penetrating . . . no, elusive . . . with a present, no, absent look, the colour of certain dreams, as gentle as the touch of a warm river in summer. You see? She's easy to recognize!

Why am I afraid to live, I who love life and the beauty of flesh and the living colors of earth and sky and sea? Why am I afraid of love, I who love love?.. Why was I born without a skin, O God, that I must wear armor in order to touch or to be touched?

When the news feels too normal, we stop paying attention. But bad news grabs us by the throat—which we willingly bare—especially when it's the kind of news that feels proximal but somehow doesn't quite touch us.

I felt my hands quiver at the unexpected contact. I... wasn't used to being touched in a way that didn't involve violence, at least not in the last few years. It helped that it was Sera. I pictured when we'd held hands as children. It had been perfectly normal, even comforting, when we were little. I hadn't associated touching with pain back then.

No,' she repeated. 'I cannot, Geralt. I cannot tell you that. That bird, begotten from the touch of your hand, will tell you. Bird? What is the essence of truth?' 'Truth,' the kestrel said, 'is a shard of ice.

Ciemno?? i czas - lekkie, niewidzialne substancje, które obna?aj? ludzk? krucho??. Umys? jest tylko p?omykiem zapa?ki na wietrze. Dusza ze strachu przed mrokiem wtula si? w cia?o, a ono swoje istnienie stwierdza dotykaj?c w?asnej skóry.

Czu?em jego ?zy i smarki. A mo?e to by?y poca?unki.

Air, however, closed within a solid form, and space, shaped by vaulting, walls and architectural detail, becomes the most perfect representation of nostalgia. You can walk into it, feel its touch on your skin, but it all flows between your fingers, you can hold it in your lungs, but just for a moment.

The touch of her hand filled me with a wild loneliness.

People who say Jane or talk about Janeites revolt me. The sort that can walk with kings and not lose that common touch. 'Miss Austen to you' is what I feel inclined to say.