Quotes About Touch

I believe she imbued my body thus, finding every touch enhanced by ambiguity of intention, as if it too required translation, and so each touch branched out, became a variety of touches.

It would seem that, through touch, through kissing, we might have gouged a worm-size channel through which crucial information could pass, sublingual messages, the kind of pre-verbal intimacy that should flow with thunderous force between the bodies of people so bonded. We should have been able to bypass a mere inability to exchange language.

Eu realmente amo você — falei, tentando tocar sua alma com ternura. — Eu? Não Lunete? — disse Nimue, furiosa.

A golden ray of light stabbed down through the tangle of leaves and touched his left hand. Now he saw what was holding him: it was the roots of the oak itself. Around his wrist wound finger-thick knotted roots, and his fingers were covered with a fine, white mesh of rootlets from which the odor of decay was coming.

hardly Africa. Not a stone has a familiar cast; the sky and the earth meet like strangers, and the touch of the sun is as dispassionate as the hand of a man who greets you with his mind on other things. Such is Molo. Its first glance presages the character I later learn — a stern country

She said to herself, " If I can just touch His robe, I'll be made well!" Matthew 9:21

The way it works for me is my sight and sound senses are combined. Every sound I associate with a color and every color I associate with a sound... The way I see things is constant streamers across the room, bouncing off from every touch and every sound. Over the years, I've learned what color palates I love most.

I feel like people are now praying for some authenticity and some human touch to music. There's no simpler outlet to that than guitar and piano.

Simply holding the hand of a loving partner can affect us profoundly, literally calming jittery neurons in the brain.

Solitude is a time for God and God alone. Who knows what can happpen when we focus only on God. In solitude, we sense our deep oneness with God and keep company with Him. Solitude is breaking through my isolation into sharing and being in touch with my Creator. In fact, we can begin to heal our loneliness by transforming it into solitude.

I let my fingers brush the inside of his elbow. Then I dampened the towel and wiped the dirt and blood from his hands, arms, chest, and face, from the coils of his ears and the creases in his neck, all the while falling and falling, slamming into myself, into the boundless pain.

The longing to touch / be touched. I feel gratitude when I touch someone—as well as affection, etc. The person has allowed me proof that I have a body—and that there are bodies in the world.

Look and look and don't ever forget. Now, close your eyes. Here, give me your hand. And just feel. Can you feel the Earth move?

We were so careful with each other. We had to be. We touched softly in deference to all the ways that we were wounded, working around each other's bruises and ruined places.

Cassie Moved Forward, Soft and Silently Enough That She Was Mere Inches Away from Him Before He Looked up at Her. She Lifted a Hand to His Cheek, Her Heart Pounding and Blood Rushing Through Her Veins.The Warmth of His Skin Against Her Hand Made Her Whole Body Tremble and When He Placed His Hand Upon Hers, Her Chest Tightened. The Intensity of His Gaze Confirmed to Her That What They Felt for One Another Would Surpass Anything He Thought He Felt for Lenora.

It is pleasurable to press a door handle shining from the thousands of hands that have entered the door before us; the clean shimmer of ageless wear has turned into an image of welcome and hospitality. The door handle is the handshake of the building. The tactile sense connects us with time and tradition: through impressions of touch we shake the hands of countless generations.

It's so beautifully arranged on the plate - you know someone's fingers have been all over it.

My love has eyes blue as the sky. Her warm, bright smile makes me want to try To give her the world, And when she's curled Up in my arms where I can feel her touch, I realize again that I love her so much. My world has turned from black to white. Kissing in starlight, basking in sunlight, dancing at midnight.' ~John's poem for Belle

Lovely house," Jack said, as he was led—hands still bound—through the grand entrance of Belgrave. He turned to the old lady. "Did you decorate? It has that woman"s touch." Miss Eversleigh was trailing behind, but he could hear her choke back a bubble of laughter. "Oh, let it out, Miss Eversleigh," he called over his shoulder. "Much better for your constitution.

She'd spent seven long years without so much as a hug, and she was starved for physical affection. She had known what it was like to be touched and kissed, and she had no idea how much she'd missed it until that very moment.

But it does feed a strange longing to touch a dew-dampened lawn, or feel a cool mist on one's face, or even to remember the joy of a perfect day after a week of rain.

He touched her lips and she felt it in her toes. It was a singularly odd—and singularly wonderful—sensation.

He caught one of her hands and turned his face into it, kissing her palm

He whispered her name, touched her cheek. Her eyes widened, lips parted. And in the end, it was inevitable.