Quotes About Touch

You did not love an angel to be safe, or in the interests of survival, or even because you thought the angel might even love you back. You did not love an angel because you thought you could tame an angel, change it, make it safe. You loved an angel because to love an angel was to touch something larger than yourself, and because the process of that touch enlarged you as well.

I press my steel hand to my cheek, taking comfort in the coolness of metal.

Tell me nothing in you chafes at the cool certainty of Faerie. That there is no human soul in you, craving touch, craving passion and emotion.

Murchaud's silver rapier gleamed when the torchlight touched it, made itself a brand of darkness in between.

In a moment, the heat would touch him. Kit braced himself for the pain, tilting his chin down to this chest and imagining that his weight flowed like water through his pelvis and down his legs, anchoring him to the floor.

A quirk of a smile. From another woman, the comment might have been flirtatious. From Carel, it came with level appraisal and a touch of a frown.

The swags and garlands of dead, cut flowers were another alien grace note, a funeral touch.

He tossed his head to flick his dripping hair from his eyes, and then wished he hadn't, because Baines climbed up the three swaybacked steps to the dais and smoothed the muddy locks back with thick gentle fingers. Kit flinched from the touch as if it burned him, and in his heart he heard an angel whimper.

The Wolf wore leather gloves, and still the heat of his body soaked through, so hot Cathoair thought he would surely have burns wherever the wolf touched him.

Through the resistance of their wardrobes, fingers brushed.

Even now, Will realized he could sense Kit's movements with a lover's awareness. He wasn't sure if that comforted or troubled him, but he stepped closer because he could, and raised one hand to touch the hackled raven on his shoulder.

My hand, innocent of its glove, catches hers. I move her fingertip from my face, but still we are skin to skin.

He squeezed Kit's elbow and felt Kit lean against him-not so much relaxing as seeking comfort and perhaps warmth, despite the way he almost flinched away from Will's steadying touch.

Somebody was touching me. Farweather. I wanted to recoil, but instead my body twitched feebly and lay still. She had pillowed my head on something uncomfortable, bony, and soft. Her thigh. She petted my hair.

Gentle wasn't the right word. Not really. But the man's fingers had cradled Cahey's skull in a tender curve, a touch that was as affectionate as it was uncomfortable. And so very wrong, for a business translation.

Maybe I was haunted, because I swear I felt a fleeting sense of contact, then, like the brush of immaterial fingers in my hair.

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.

Murchaud moved slowly along the wall, trailing his hands over the stones nearest the dripping ceiling as if they might whisper something in his ear if properly coaxed.

Mallory reached across Perceval's lap and stroked Rien's sweat-cold cheek. This touch, Rien did not flinch from. Perceval swallowed, an acrid pain of jealousy.

Curled tight as a caterpillar, his fingers laced through the bridle as if the touch of iron could ease his agony, he still flinched when the light struck his face.

What settled over him felt like the brush of a silk sheet down his skin. What followed that touch was blackness, utter and complete.

The rain washing his house tickled his skin, the memory of a caress on skin that had not felt such a thing in centuries.

Kadiska wore red pantaloons slung low across her belly, showing her navel and the beaded lines of scars. Gold cloth wound her breasts, golden sandals wound her ankles, and a shawl of cloudlike like woal wrapped her shoulders and muffled her arms. Except when she reached out, as she did now, and ran her fingers through Seeker's hair, tricking the dark strands behind an ear in which an emerald still glittered.

Their hands, swinging, touched lightly now and then; their nearness was as natural as the June day.