Fingertips Part Quotes & Sayings

The warm night claimed her. In a moment it was part of her. She walked on the grass, and her shoes were instantly soaked. She flung up her arms to the sky. Power ran to her fingertips. Excitement was communicated from the waiting trees, and the orchard, and the paddock; the intensity of their secret life caught at her and made her run. It was nothing like the excitement of ordinary looking forward, of birthday presents, of Christmas stockings, but the pull of a magnet - her grandfather had shown her once how it worked, little needles springing to the jaws - and now night and the sky above were a vast magnet, and the things that waited below were needles, caught up in the great demand. ("The Pool") — Daphne Du Maurier

An unexpected ripple has been torn in their meticulously cultivated ghetto paradise, and I'm the mothafuckin' pebble. — Daniel Jose Older

The person who looks at a photograph as a complete picture, unable to say anything about anything except the facts which existed at the moment of exposure, does not see very far. — Francis Meadow Sutcliffe

Papa!" she whispered. "I have no eyes!"
He patted the girl's hair. She'd fallen into his trap. "With a smile like that," Hans Hubermann said, "you don't need eyes. — Markus Zusak

More so than with any other instrument, the violin becomes part of the body. Good musicians are physically dissolved when playing, and for violinists, who cannot see where to place their fingers and have nothing to guide them through touch, music must be more than ever about memory than fingertips and breath; the ventage is deeper, more of the self, closer to singing. — Lavinia Greenlaw

Of course, I won't be abandoning photography, because it is my life. — Sebastiao Salgado

We're interested in things that have big teeth, and you can see the evolutionary value of that, and you can also see the practical consequences by watching 'Animal Planet.' You notice they make very few programs about gerbils. It's mostly about things that have big teeth. — Seth Shostak

When you work at a microscopic level, you have to control every part of your body movement - your fingertips, your joints, the pulse in your fingers. — Willard Wigan

In real life I'm very low-key. A wallflower. One of the reasons I went into comedy and acting was that I was sick of being shy. — Jemaine Clement

He knelt down beside her and slowly rubbed a soft, muculent mix on her bare skin like a sculptor at work. It carried the pleasurable smell of wet earth. With his fingertips, he gently stroked every part of her body; and with every stroke, she groaned softly. She felt the pain that filled every bone in her body, yet she also felt the immense sensation of pleasure and comfort that was so foreign to her — Mirette Baghat

Don't give up on books. They feel so good - their friendly heft. The sweet reluctance of their pages when you turn them with your sensitive fingertips. A large part of our brains is devoted to deciding what our hands are touching, is good or bad for us. Any brain worth a nickel knows books are good for us. — Kurt Vonnegut

Problems are the gifts that make us dig out and figure out who we are, what we're made for, and what we're responsible to give back to life. — Tony Robbins

felt the warmth from my chest to my fingertips as she infected my blood. Every part of me vibrated. I had agreed to stay away from her. I'd made a trade. Vengeance in exchange for erasing her from my life. — C.D. Reiss

The doubts, strong as they were, were rousing more than hesitation. Her eyes drifted closed, fingertips sliding over the silk and lace panties she wore.
Larry could never know how many times they'd been pulled aside in a rush of unbridled lust, how the side had been carefully stitched after they'd been ripped from her in a bar bathroom a few years ago by a man whose name she didn't even know. She found her fingers at the seam, her breath shallow and shaking as she remembered the way his rough, callused fingers felt inside her, the ache of his teeth at her shoulder, the sound of his growling moans as he gripped her hair and plunged deep into her throat. She could still smell the whiskey on his breath, the stifling cloud of smoke that permeated every part of the hole-in-the-wall bar — Alaria Thorne

Cooper pulled out a high-backed stool, sat down, tapped out the beat on the bar with his fingertips. He'd heard once that the essence of country music was three chords and the truth. Well, the three-chords part still stands. — Marcus Sakey

I rake my hands across his biceps and down his pecs. Water and sand crumble to shimmery, granular trails along his chest hair in my wake. As I touch him, his breath catches and his long, dark eyelashes close in exquisite agony.
I splay my fingertips and open my palm to match his cigarette burns to my scars. His muscles answer with tiny twitches, every part of him strong where I'm soft.
"Jeb."
He opens his eyes and we lock gazes.
"This is why we fit. Because we're both damaged, in a way that can't be healed. — A.G. Howard

I am blotting out pieces of my life. I am blotting out everything but this. But him. I exhale as he brushes against me, my body beginning to uncurl, to loosen at his fingertips. I am letting him wash over me, drown every part of me that I don't need in order to kiss or to listen or to smile or to want. This is what I want. This is my drug. The pain, both skin-deep and deeper, is finally gone. Everything is gone but the quiet.
And the quiet is wonderful. — Victoria Schwab

The twenty hooves of the horses slowed their relentless cadence on the damp ground as they approached the town. A sudden cloudburst had only just ended, and steaming snorts emitted from the winded mounts. From behind the edge of the bizarre leather mask that covered half of the leader's face, a small smile of recognition curled on his chapped lips. — C.G. Faulkner

The scenic vistas of North Carolina and Tennessee make you feel like you're looking at a work of art, but crossing through the rural countryside of southwest Virginia and caressing the tall grass with your fingertips, you feel like you're part of the painting. — Jennifer Pharr Davis

We are lucky simply to be alive together; why get differentiating and judgemental about who is here among us? Thank God there is anyone at all. — Lorrie Moore

Like Indiana Jones, I don't like snakes - though that might lead some to ask why I'm in politics. — Theresa May

They were allowed a little touch at each of the books, but only with their fingertips tonight, literature cannot bear dirty hands; first we'll have to back each volume with paper, the covers must not get dirty, nor the spines slit, books are the nation's most precious possession, books have preserved the nation's life through monopoly, pestilence, and volcanic eruption, not to mention the tons of snow that have lain over the country's widely scattered homesteads for the major part of every one of its thousand years. — Halldor Laxness

Legs are my favorite part. I never snap them off with a single bite. I nibble on them slowly as I work my way up. I crunch bony ankles, gnaw on slender calves. Knees are a delicacy; canine teeth are ideal for chipping cartilage. Thighs - oh sweet, sweet thighs - must be savored, eaten like a sacred drumstick. Thick and long and often hairy, a torso is best swallowed whole. The neck is delicious, but fragile: one bite and all I have left is a tiny head resting on my fingertips.

Animal crackers. They are a great snack... — Matt Blackstone

That at the same time of this very intimate act of concentrating so carefully on the details of our mother's palm and fingertips, he was also removing all traces of any tiny leftover parts, and suddenly a ritual which I'd always found incestuous and gross seemed to me more like a desperate act on Joseph's part to get out, to leave, to extract every little last remnant and bring it into open air. — Aimee Bender

We must find a balance between "reddish whites," "bluish whites" and "yellowish whites," and decide on the proper length and thickness of the fiber. Then each part of the book can play its proper role: the front cover conveys a powerful silence; the inside cover the purity of first openings; the title page the texture of new beginnings; while the body of the text sets the words and pictures against a clear background, or whispers "touch me!" to the reader's fingertips — Kenya Hara

Our fingers unlace so slowly that I am certain some part of me has been left behind on her fingertips. — Mary E. Pearson

I constantly have to negotiate with my doubts. — Peter Doig

Lying On The Grass

The solid earth has never yet complained.
There is only the slight scrape
Of the accommodating grass
Adjusting around your body its bent blades.

Part the grass with fingertips
To follow the travels of ants
And expeditions of other insects
Through the weeds.

On your forearm
A light green mite
Is blown when you breathe
From its perch, a sunlit hair. — Jon Bracker

I never realized how powerful desire could be. It consumes every part of you, enhancing your senses by a million. When you're in the moment, it enhances your sense of sight, and all you can do is focus on the person in front of you. It enhances your sense of smell, and suddenly, you're aware of the fact that his hair has just been washed and his shirt is fresh out of the dryer. It enhances your sense of touch and makes your skin prickle and your fingertips tingle, and it leaves you craving to be touched. It enhances your sense of taste, and your mouth becomes hungry and wanting, and the only thing that can satisfy it is the relief of another mouth in search of the same. — Colleen Hoover

Denise would never get over it. She knew that. Tommy's bones at the bottom of the well. She and Henry had spent some time with those bones. When the police had finished testing and tagging and photohgraphing them the funeral parlor had given them time before the burial. She'd clutched them to her chest. Run her fingertips along the smooth sockets that had held his shining eyes. There but not there.

Some part of her wanted those bones. Wanted to put the femurs under her pillow at night when she went to sleep. To carry his skull around in her purse so she'd be with him always.

She understood now how people went crazy and did crazy things. — Sharon Guskin

send me here, to the heart of the storm belt, for the summer. — Kate Messner

And what part of me will begin
To forget you first; the sudden
Pains that shoot to my bruised palms
As I think of you in the cover of the dark,
Or the invisible hand
Clutching at my heart, as it knocks against its savage cage,
Or my still swollen lips
As they remember the touch of your gentle fingertips? — Sreesha Divakaran

Solve the problem yourself or accept a fate you may not like ... from this perspective, the ethic of personal responsibility gains appeal. — Noel Tichy

I brought my hand to the back of his neck and leaned into him, sliding my fingers into the curls at his nape. His arms clasped tighter around me. I sighed just a little against his mouth, feeling that it was almost too much, all this newness, this feeling that there was space and light inside me I'd never noticed before. Every part of me down to my fingertips felt like reworked glass, melting into some new shape, my edges beginning to glow. I wanted to do nothing but change this way, pressed against his body, his warmth and goodness, forever. — Betsy Cornwell