Barely Holding On Quotes & Sayings

Tom lifted his other hand and rested it lightly on Reese's slim hip, barely holding on. "I want to kiss you. — Amy Jo Cousins

A tall man in a plaid work shirt stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. "Can I buy you a drink, little lady?" I reached back and got Jason's hand. I raised it where it was visible. "Taken. Sorry." There was more than one reason I'd wanted to bring Jason with me to a bar on a Friday night. He stared down at Jason, way down, making a show of how very tall he was. "Don't you want something a little bigger?" "I like them small," I said, my face very serious. "It makes oral sex easier." We left him speechless. Jason was laughing so hard, he could barely keep his feet. I pulled him through the crowd by the hand. Holding his hand seemed to be hint enough for the rest of the cruising males. The — Laurell K. Hamilton

Tears flood in you
your eyes burning
your heart scars with my name scratched deep
My face is gone
my heart betrayed by your lullabies
I'm a shadow of a girl inside
Hands are touching you
nothing takes the place of you
Heart wrench, weeps goodbye
Lullabies, beautiful and trusting
Barely breathing as they break into dust
Lonely corners me
Sweeps me off my feet
Shows me it was better for me
Fingertips holding close
your grip not as soft
Follows me to an empty bed
I can't stop the weakening of my soul
my body is dying
your tune is holding my mind
Let me go
see what I do
No control
No you
You whisper your sweet goodbye
If it is small it won't interrupt my sleep
But my heart you keep
You say it's for me
But who would be happy?
Alone left out in the cold — Mercy Cortez

How ... how are you doing, Jace?" Dr. Pete manages.
"Holding on. Just barely. Charlie?"
Charlie's tone is almost conversational. "Kind of getting the urge to kill both of you.Think I'm gonna head back."
"Sure, okay, no problem."
"Yeah, yeah, good idea. You do that."
Charlie turns and trudges away. It's just Dr. Pete and me now. — D.D. Barant

He's barely finished himself inside me when my release hits. My thighs tense. The breath stalls in my lungs, and then I kick back my head and let out the loudest, throatiest, and most breathless moan in the history of all history, going boneless in a blissful rush.
"Gods, I missed you," Griffin rasps, holding me as I throb around him.
The high-impact tremors fade into sweet, lingering aftershocks. I look up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. My lips part, but no words come out. Even the drag of frosty air over my kiss-swollen lips is almost too sensual to bear.
Griffin quirks a dark eyebrow, looking smug. "That was easy."
I grin, falling in love with him all over again. "Then do it again. — Amanda Bouchet

I don't know anything about press conferences."
"Oh, just Google it. I'm sure someone's written an article on holding a successful one. I mean, if the President can manage it, I'm sure you can. He looks like he can barely tie his shoes without help. — Cory Doctorow

She was floating as the sea of pleasure took her out upon its rising tide and when she became aware of herself again it was to the feel of Zac behind her, supporting her weight by holding her under her arms. (Barely Restrained, 2011) — Brenda Cothern

Her belly was beginning to complain with hunger, and she had to imagine that the others were feeling the same. They were holding the bridge of the largest spacecraft humanity had ever built, trapped in the starless dark by an alien power they barely began to comprehend, but they were still constrained by the petty needs of flesh, and their collective blood sugar was getting pretty low. — James S.A. Corey

The fleabitten grey mare's short legs are slightly over at the knee, she has a Roman nose and a neck of solid muscle well-practiced at pulling her rider out of the saddle. Her head is up and a layer of sweat darkens her pale shoulders, but Alec's holding his reins tight and he's maintaining control. All the riders who have gone before on beautifully turned out, well-schooled ponies were merely passengers as their ponies jumped. Alec has harnessed the raw talent of his mare, her power barely held in check as the bell rings and he canters her around towards the first jump. Jess strains against the martingale as she charges towards the first fence and with one strong push off her hocks, flies over the jump with her knees tucked into her chest. — Kate Lattey

You understand, don't you, Mrs. Mackenzie?" Blackwell murmured, his hard mouth barely moving as the intensity of his regard pinned her to her seat. "The deeds of a willful youth."
A thrill of danger kissed her spine.
"Horseshit!" Morley roared.
Dorian turned back to face him, and Farah was able to let out a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding as the black spell he'd woven over her suddenly dissipated.
"For shame, Morley," he mockingly chided. "Such language in front of a lady."
"She is my employee," Sir Morley gritted through clenched teeth. "And I'll thank you not to bother about her if you want to keep the vision in the eye you have left."
"I can hardly help myself. She's such a ripe piece of skirt. — Kerrigan Byrne

Isabelle took out her invitation and waved it like a white flag. "I have an invitation. These" - she indicated the rest of the group with a grand wave of her arm - "are my friends."
Magnus plucked the invitation out of her hand and looked at it with fastidious distaste. "I must have been drunk," he said. He threw the door open. "Come in. And try not to murder any of my guests."
Jace edged into the doorway, sizing up Magnus with his eyes. "Even if one of them spills a drink on my new shoes?"
"Even then." Magnus's hand shot out, so fast it was barely a blur. He plucked the stele out of Jace's hand - Clary hadn't even realized he was holding it - and held it up. Jace looked faintly abashed. "As for this," Magnus said, sliding it into Jace's jeans pocket, "keep it in your pants, Shadowhunter. — Cassandra Clare

O'Sah explained to me that there are four categories of Chosen, each more powerful than the last. First are Zeros, Chosen who possess barely any magic. Second are Phobien, Chosen who have a reasonable amount of magic. Then, there are Thrones, considered powerful and holding many influential positions across Duwyn. And last, the Pulsar, the strongest of Chosen, revered as almost god-like beings. — Giselle Simlett

I need to fuck you," I said hoarsely. I could barely breathe as I waited for his response and when it finally came, I wanted to shout out in relief. With his eyes holding mine, Dante slowly nodded. His breath was sawing in and out of him and I could feel a faint tremor beneath me. Any doubt I had about him wanting me as badly as I wanted him fled. Dante — Sloane Kennedy

Her cheeks turned a deep shade of peach. A pang of jealousy struck me deep inside, and I flopped into my chair. The others joined me at the table. Didn't Montgomery remember last night, during the storm, running his fingers down the bare skin of my back? I did. I could barely think about anything else. Edward sat across from me, deep in his own thoughts. His hands still bore the scratches from our escape. I wondered if his ribs still hurt him. I absently touched my own, remembering the feel of his hands holding me there, that night behind the waterfall. — Megan Shepherd

Into the cargo room. Down the ramp of the hatch door, into the brightness of day. They'd barely stepped off of it when squeals pierced the air and the slab of metal began to close. Alec lifted the Berg off the ground, blue thrusters roaring. Mark was barely holding onto his mind, but he felt a sudden, unbearable sadness. He'd never see the old bear again. — James Dashner

The first building she reached appeared to be an old barn. Only one young guard stood before its bolted door, staring at her with wide eyes, holding up his sword in defense, She heated his sword and he dropped it, his expression barely changing, as if he had been expecting that. She held up her two swords to his throat, but they were two heavy, so she dropped one and held the other with both hands. "Where are the two Bayern boys kept?" The soldier shook his head. BURN HIM, prompted the fire. The excitement of burning was simmering in her, heating her up for more action. — Shannon Hale

A work in progress quickly becomes feral. It reverts to a wild state overnight. It is barely domesticated, a mustang on which you one day fastened a halter, but which now you cannot catch. It is a lion you cage in your study. As the work grows, it gets harder to control; it is a lion growing in strength. You must visit it every day and reassert your mastery over it. If you skip a day, you are, quite rightly, afraid to open the door to its room. You enter its room with bravura, holding a chair at the thing and shouting, Simba! — Annie Dillard

Moving between her thighs, he stretched out above her, then thrust into her. Once. Because, as he did everything, he acted without hesitation or apology to claim her entirely. Her eyes went wide and her breath caught. Holding her gaze, he pressed himself deeper, barely easing back before pressing deep again. — Sandra Brown

Willow, you know that you said you couldn't tell how I felt at the rest stop?"
I nodded, and he took my hand, laying it flat on his chest with his own resting over it. "Can you tell now?" he asked.
His heart beat firmly under my hand; my own pulse was pounding so hard that I could barely think straight. Closing my eyes, I took a deep, steadying breath, and then another as I tried to clear my mind, to feel what he was feeling. For a moment there was just the softness of our breathing
then all at once it washed over me in a great wave.
He was in love with me, too.
I opened my eyes. Alex was still holding my hand to his chest, watching me, his expression more serious than I'd ever seen it. Unable to speak, I slowly dropped my hand and wrapped my arms around him. His own arms came around me as he rested his head on my hair.
"I really do, you know," he said, his voice rough.
"I know," I whispered back. "I do, too. — L.A. Weatherly

I closed my eyes and he kissed my eyelids, barely brushing them with his lips. I felt safe, at home. I felt as if here, against his body, was the only place in which I belonged. The only place I had ever wanted to be. We lay in silence for a while, holding each other, our skin merging, our breathing synchronized. I felt as if silence might allow the moment to last for ever, which would still not be enough. — S.J. Watson

I have waited for this, Beth, this moment," he whispered as he took her hands in his and brought her fingertips to his mouth, kissing each fingertip before placing her palms on either side of his face. "When Sussex, Black and I returned from the East, I watched you as you did this - touched Sussex, then Black. And I waited, holding my breath, barely able to control my feelings, waiting to feel your touch on my face. But you did not. You made a polite enquiry after my health and left me standing alone by the hearth. And, then, the other afternoon with Sheldon, you touched him, and I was alone, and apart again. Remembering what it was like to await your touch, and then never to feel it. Beth," he whispered as he moved closer to her, "won't you touch me? See me? — Charlotte Featherstone

Hallelujah can barely breathe through the pain of each step. Rachel is panting from the effort of holding Hallelujah up. Still, when they get closer to the clearing, Rachel manages to call out: "Jonah! Help!"
There's a rustling noise up ahead. Twigs snapping. And then Jonah appears. His face is in shadow, but his voice is worried: "What happened?"
"I turned my ankle," Hallelujah says. "I'm okay."
"She's not okay," Rachel gasps. "She can't put weight on it. Can you carry her?"
Jonah doesn't hesitate. He wraps one arm around Hallelujah's waist, and then he scoops up her legs with the other. In a single, fluid motion, she's off the ground. She holds on to his shoulders. For a second, she thinks about how strange this is - to be held like this, to be held by Jonah. — Kathryn Holmes

Mark nearly fell forward, and threw his arms around Julian. Julian barely managed to catch himself before almost falling over. Mark was whipcord thin, but strong, his hands fisting in Julian's shirt. Julian could feel Mark's heart hammering, feel the sharp bones under his skin. He smelled like earth and mildew and grass and nighttime air. "Julian," Mark said, muffled, his body shaking. "Julian, my brother, my brother." Julian sighed. He wanted to relax into his older brother, let Mark hold him up the way he once had. But Mark was slighter than he was, fragile under his hands. He would be holding Mark up from now on. It was not what he had imagined, dreamed of, but it was the reality. It was his brother. He tightened his hands on Mark and adjusted his heart to bear the new burden. — Cassandra Clare

There is the image of the man who imagines himself to be a prisoner in a cell. He stands at one end of this small, dark, barren room, on his toes, with arms stretched upward, hands grasping for support onto a small, barred window, the room's only apparent source of light. If he holds on tight, straining toward the window, turning his head just so, he can see a bit of bright sunlight barely visible between the uppermost bars. This light is his only hope. He will not risk losing it. And so he continues to staring toward that bit of light, holding tightly to the bars. So committed is his effort not to lose sight of that glimmer of life-giving light, that it never occurs to him to let go and explore the darkness of the rest of the cell. So it is that he never discovers that the door at the other end of the cell is open, that he is free. He has always been free to walk out into the brightness of the day, if only he would let go. (192) — Sheldon B. Kopp

When Annunziata said she loved me or any of her thousands of other friends and beloveds, she was really saying, at least in my mind, "God loves you." To quote the singer/songwriter James Taylor, she showered the people she loved with love, always showing the way that she felt without holding back. Even as her body could barely contain her soul any longer, she'd open wide the gates of herself with a smile, that giggle, her twinkling eyes, and she'd let the supernatural love flow through her. Walking out of the chapel after her funeral, a woman I'd never seen before stopped me and said, "You're Cathleen, aren't you?" "Yes," I croaked, tears rolling off my nose as I fingered the prayer card with Annunziata's picture on it. Slipping an arm around my shoulders, the woman explained that she was one of Annunziata's former students and said, "She loved you so much." I know. — Cathleen Falsani

Jake's POV: Meanwhile, Ally was here with Marshall Moss, who she was obviously going to hook up with later. They'd barely stopped touching each other all night. Even now, they were out in the middle of the dance floor dancing to some Black Eyed Peas song. No reason to be touching for a fast song, but they were. Holding hands while they bounced around with friends.
She looked happy. Which made me want to punch someone. Preferably Marshall Moss. — Kieran Scott

The struggle may go on much, much longer than you could ever imagine. By the time you get to the end of the fight you can barely hold on. You wonder if you're crazy for holding on. You've been battling so long that you're worn out. You hope for a stroke of luck. You pray for a bit of divine favor. You look for encouragement and search for compassion and understanding; but mostly, you look for relief. When you're deep in battle, what you need is strength to keep going, even when it looks like nothing is going to happen. — T.D. Jakes

It's cute how I used to think this 'barely holding it together' feeling was temporary. — Anna Kendrick

I'm barely holding onto my restraint right now, so if you want our first time together to have anything like romance to it, then just shut it. All right, love? — Jasinda Wilder

How ... how are you doing, Jace?'
Holding on. Just barely. Charlie?'
Charlie's tone is almost conversational. 'Kind of getting the urge to kill both of you. Think I'm gonna head back.'
Sure, okay, no problem.'
Yeah, yeah, good idea. You do that. — D.D. Barant

Hot damn. Cue the violins and happy cartoon bunnies. I was in the middle of a Disney moment. Because this guy was gorgeous. And we were standing so close to each other. If he hadn't been holding onto a barely contained rage directed at yours truly, it could have almost been construed as romantic. — A Meredith Walters

Why am I holding on to this stuff? Some of this junk is losing its punch. Pictures. Pieces of paper with writing on them - I can no longer connect with the thoughts or feelings that birthed them, that drove me in that panicky desperate moment to scribble in a barely legible scrawl as if on a cave wall. All say the same thing in some form or another: "I am here. This is me in this moment." Do I have some fantasy that this stuff will be important after I die? Do I think that scholars will be thrilled that I left such a disorganized treasure trove of creative evidence of me? Will the archives be fought over by college libraries? What will probably happen is my brother will come out with my mother and look in the boxes. My mother will hold up a VHS or a cassette and say to my brother, "Do I have a machine that plays these?" My brother will shake his head no and they will throw it all away. — Marc Maron

He pierced her with a look. "I thought we had an agreement. I keep my men away from your ladies, and you keep your distance from me. You're not holding your end of the bargain."
"It's but a momentary interruption. Just this once."
"Just this once?" He made a dismissive noise, rifling through papers. "What about just now in the church?"
"Very well, twice."
"Try again." He stacked his papers and looked up, devouring her with his intent green gaze. "You invaded my dreams at least a half-dozen times last night. When I'm awake, you keep traipsing through my thoughts. Sometimes you're barely clothed. What excuse can you make for that?"
She stammered to form a response, her tongue tripping against her teeth. "I ... I would never traipse." Idiotic reply.
"Hm." He tilted his head and regarded her thoughtfully. "Would you saunter? — Tessa Dare

Captain," said one of the guardsmen. "I was here when it happened, watching him on the balcony. It fell right out. Barely a sound. I was standing here, looking out at the Plains and thinking to myself, and next I knew His Majesty was hanging right there, holding on for his life and cursing like a caravan worker." The guard blushed. "Sir. — Brandon Sanderson

The light from the hallway spilled inside her bedroom. She'd barely stepped over the threshold when he caught her. Kenton spun her around and yanked her up in his arms. Two steps, and they were on the bed. Crashing down. Falling hard into the soft mattress.
He caged her arms over her head, holding them with one hand even as he took her mouth.
That other hand - yes! - drifted down her stomach and pushed between her legs. He'd find her wet, she knew it. One kiss, and she'd been wet for him. Creamy, hot. Ready. — Cynthia Eden

I could have lived like that. For a long time. People do it. Like a piece of cardboard, walking around tall and flat in the world, without nerve endings, sinews stiff enough to keep any weakness they're holding safely twined up. It keeps the good things from getting in, too. But you barely register emptiness when you only have two dimensions. People do it, keep their constriction mostly intact; except for the moments when they don't. — Mac McClelland

Omg this is like one of those sappy romance movies but I don't care! Jake is holding my hand! I looked back up at him and we slowly rose staring into each other's eyes. Ok, where the heck is my awesome music saying he's the one?! What about a breeze that blows my hair in all directions making me look hot? C'mon Cupid! Give me something!!! A weak chilly breeze blew. It barely even moved my hair. Oh c'mon!!!! — Bella Shadow

The roar behind him was louder than anything he had ever heard in his life; a monstrous fist punched him in the back, knocking all the wind out of him even before he landed, sprawled on his belly on the wall top, barely holding on to his staff as it swung over the edge. — Robert Jordan

The tension has worn us out. It is a deadly tension that feels as if a jagged knife blade is being scraped along the spine. Our legs won't function, our hands are trembling and our bodies are like thin membranes stretched over barely repressed madness, holding in what would otherwise be an unrestrained outburst of endless scream.s. We have no flesh, no muscle now — Erich Maria Remarque

Kim sat up. "You all sound like you don't take this seriously, like you don't want me to get Brian free. Brian's mother is barely holding it together. You and Sean had to do the comforting sandwich with her, remember? — Jennifer Ashley

Gerek placed his hands under Rapunzel's arms and lifted her to her feet. She looked into his eyes for a moment, then threw her arms around him. He pulled her close with one arm, still holding his sword in his other hand. "Shh. All is well . . . All is well." Her golden hair was falling around her shoulders in disarray. How his heart swelled with joy at seeing her safe, her arms around him, the way it felt to touch her and hold her . . . which he should not be doing. But the way she was clinging to him felt so good he could barely breathe. — Melanie Dickerson

His hands lay flat on either side of him, his arms at his sides. He seemed barely to be breathing; she wasn't sure she was breathing herself. She slid her own hand across the bedsheet, just far enough that their fingers touched-so lightly that she would have probably hardly been aware of it had she been touching anyone but Jace; as it was, the nerve endings in her fingertips pricked softly, as if she were holding them over a low flame. She felt him tense beside her and then relax. He had shut his eyes, and his lashes cast fine shadows against the curve of his cheekbones. His mouth curled into a smile as if he sensed her watching him, and she wondered how he would look in the morning, with his hair messed and sleep circles under his eyes. Despite everything, the thought gave her a jolt of happiness.
She laced her fingers through his. "Good night," she whispered. With their hands clasped like children in a fairy tale, she fell asleep beside him in the dark. — Cassandra Clare