Quotes About Touch

I am the woman at the water's edge, offering you oranges for the peeling, knife glistening in the sun. This is the scent and taste of my skin: citon and sweet. Touch me and your life will unfold before you, easily as this skirt billows then sinks, lapping against my legs, my toes filtering through the rivers silt. Following the current out to sea, I am the kind of woman who will come back to haunt your dreams, move through your humid nights the way honey swirls through a cup of hot tea

She was beyond herself; she touched eternity; she was no mere Witch; she was Moonhawk, and a goddess.

Le parole mi turbinano intorno da sempre come fiocchi di neve, tutte delicate e diverse, e tutte mi si sciolgono in mano prima che le tocchi.

I want to relearn the intervals, to journey with a man among the thirds and fifths, augumented, diminshed, with a light touch, sforzando, rallentando, agitato, the usual adores and dotes - and of course what I reaaly want is some low notes.

It struck cold awe to my heart, now, to look at who I had been who had thought it was impossible that he or I could touch another.

Before I turned out the light, he touched my face, then turned away, then the dark.

I put my hand on the mastodon of his buoyant hand, which was resting, now, as a swimmer at the end of a stroke may glide, may glide, desire, desire, rest, desire.

Should I ever again sink into illness, I'm sure I'll remember Eldric. I'll remember he cared for me. I'll remember that someone had at least taken the time to touch my face.

If you caress me one more time, you will melt the butter on my toast.

The distance of a voice, is only a short time away from touch.

Touching him is familiar and unfamiliar. We have been here before. Also we have never been here before.

She looked more fragile and more lovely than ever in the moonlight. He felt that stirring of desire he had felt the first time he had touched her and she him.

And so she placed her hand in his and he gripped it firmly. She was touching him again after six long years. For a moment she forgot time and occasion. It could be no one else's hand: warm, broad, capable. She had once thought she could put her whole life in it and be safe.

But it was an ordeal worse than any she had yet experienced in the days since she heard he was coming home. To see him and to hear him was bad enough. To touch him was unendurable—that slim yet surprisingly strong hand that had so often held hers in the past, so often touched and caressed her.

I held my breath as we do sometimes to stop time when something wonderful has touched us...

This is not just surprise and pleasure. This is not just beauty sometimes too hot to touch. This is not a blessing with a beginning and an end. This is not just a wild summer. This is not conditional.

But perhaps you're still sleeping. I could wake you with a touch or a kiss. But so could I shake the petals from the wild rose which blossoms so silently and perfectly, and I do not.

but he was unreachable. As music is present yet you can't touch it...

It's beautiful," said Annie. "Feel." She handed it to Jack. The thread was smooth and soft.

Taste is a sort of chemical touch. Taste cells are specialized skin cells. If you have hands for picking up foods and putting them into your mouth, it makes sense for taste cells to be on your tongue. But if, like flies, you don't, it may be more expedient to have them on your feet. "They land on something and go, 'Oooo, sugar!''' Rawson does her best impersonation of a housefly. "And the proboscis automatically comes out to suck the fluids.

That was the first time I experienced the desperate orgiastic pleasure of this form of public mourning: it was the one place where people mingled and touched bodies and shared emotions without restraint or guilt. There was a wild, sexually flavored frenzy in the air. Later, when I saw a slogan by Khomeini saying that the Islamic Republic survives through its mourning ceremonies, I could testify to its truth.

Strange how a single conversation can change you. Or maybe it only seems that way in retrospect. A year passes and you know you feel differently, but you're not sure what or why or how, so your mind casts back for something that might give that difference shape: a word, a glance, a touch.

Love's the greatest gift is its ability to make everything it touches sacred.

Emelina set a cup of tea in front of me. I picked it up and let the steam touch my eyelids, realizing that what I needed most at that moment was to lie in bed with someone who was fond of every inch of my skin.