Fisted Quotes & Sayings

You know what works best when life sucks?"
"I'm sure you're about to tell me," she said dryly.
"Flipping it off and carrying on. You take your hand, like this." Liz raised her hand and fisted it. "And you lift that middle finger way up and you shake the shit out of it, right at the sky." She demonstrated, upper lip curled and fire in her eyes. — Lindy Zart

Mark. She fisted her hands in his hair and pulled his mouth to hers, her entire world anchored on his finger. When it slid inside her, she thunked her head back against the door and panted. Then his thumb brushed her in a slow circle.
She cried out against his lips, arching into him, yanking his hair. She couldn't help it. She was going up in flames. He merely pressed her hard to the door, locking her in place. Continuing the torture, he added another finger. She came hard and fast, the power of it sweeping over her like a tidal wave. — Jill Shalvis

Wraeththu have been with me for the greater part of my life. My first rather ham-fisted (and half-finished) stories about them began in my mid-teens. It wasn't until I was twenty-six that I began work properly on the full-length novel that became The Enchantments of Flesh and Spirit, first volume of the Wraeththu trilogy, which was published in 1987. This was followed by The Bewitchments of Love and Hate and the Fulfilments of Fate and Desire. — Storm Constantine

Just promise me something . . . ." He looked down at my hand fisted in his and pushed his fingers into it, compelling me to entwine my fingers with his, a move that was perfectly him. He'd pushed himself into my heart much the same way. "Promise," he went on, "that if you hear about a grupped-up tiger gone feral, you'll hire a hunter to put me down."
"No," I gasped. "You'll have years before that happens and by then, Dr. Solis will have found a cure. — Kat Falls

Without a sound, Scarlet kicked out her legs and sent the whore to her ass. A second later, Scarlet had again closed the distance between them. She fisted the goddess's robe, momentum giving her strength as she flung the goddess around and around before releasing her and sending her soaring. Like Scarlet had done, NeeMah slammed into nothing. She wasn't as quick to get up, though, and Scarlet used that to her advantage, rushing forward and elbow-diving for all she was worth. Smack. Bone cracked. Gideon couldn't help himself. He whooped, slinging popcorn in every direction. Cronus leveled him with a glare. What? he silently mouthed, then turned back to the massacre. Blood — Gena Showalter

The hairs on the back of her neck tingled and she shivered. She turned toward the door and blinked once. Twice.

The sexiest man she'd ever seen in her life stood in the doorway.

No, stood wasn't a good word, not with the way his presence filled the shop. Dear Lord, was she panting? His broad shoulders were encased in a suit that had t cost more than her rent, but she didn't care about that. His thick chest tapered into a trim waist and strong thighs. Just the thought of those thighs made her clench her own. He had his hands fisted at his sides, and oh God, those hands. Large, thick and they looked so out of place compared to his classy suit. It looked as if he actually used his hands rather than merely sitting behind a desk as his attire suggested, — Carrie Ann Ryan

CLOSE-FISTED, adj. Unduly desirous of keeping that which many meritorious persons wish to obtain. — Ambrose Bierce

I'm not leaving."

"I want you out of the city, and now. If the chalet doesn't suit you, go where you like. But you will go."

"I have no intention of going anywhere."

"Fuck it. You're fired."

"Very well. I will remove my belongings and book a hotel until -- "

"Oh, shut up. Both of you shut the hell up." She fisted her hands in her hair, yanked fiercely. "Just my luck, you finally say the words I've been waiting over a year to hear and I can't do my happy dance. You expect him to put his tail between his skinny legs and hide?" she demanded of Roarke. "You think when you're in the middle of this kind of mess he's just going to bop over to Switzerland and yodel, or whatever the hell they do there? — J.D. Robb

I hated Alfred. He was a miserable, pious, tight-fisted king who distrusted me because I was no Christian, because I was a northerner, and because I had given him his kingdom back at Ethandun. And as reward he had given me Fifhaden. Bastard. — Bernard Cornwell

Jake, she whispered, the hot blast of her exhalation making him groan. He gave in and fisted his hands in her hair.
She opened to him at once, her body melting against his, wilting into his embrace so that it felt like his light pressure on her cheeks was all that held her upright. But her mouth was a hungry thing, her tongue diving in to tangle with his while her arms wound around his shoulders. He slanted his head to plunder her as deeply as he could, ravenous to explore every inch of her mouth.
Forget kissing. They were eating each other alive. — Cari Quinn

Considerations of plot do a great deal of heavy lifting when it comes to long-form narrative - readers will overlook the most ham-fisted prose if only a writer can make them long to know what happens next. — Lynn Coady

Remy shot to her feet, eyes blazing. Her hands were fisted at her sides. "Don't be stupid, Creed."

"What did you say?" I asked slowly.

"Don't. Be. Stupid."

I opened my mouth, closed it. "Why do you even care?" I finally asked.

Remy's eyes shifted away from mine. She was hiding something. "You're giving up."

"No." I shook my head. "Giving up would be giving in to the darkness completely. I haven't quite taken that step yet."

"What's stopping you?"

"What?"

"If you don't care and you want it to be over, what's stopping you from letting the evil inside of you destroy you?"

You.

"You need to leave," I told her.

"I can't."

A low rumble sounded deep in my chest.

"Are you growling at me?"

"Are you scared?"

"No."

"You should be," I stated, moving for her. — Lindy Zart

Beloved, whatever we are gripping to bring us satisfaction is a lie-unless it is Christ. He is the Truth that sets us free. If you are holding anything in your craving for satisfaction right now, would you be willing to acknowledge it as a lie? Even if you feel you can't let go of it right this moment, would you lift it before Him-perhaps literally lifting your fisted hand as a symbol-and confess it as an idol? God does not condemn you. He calls you. — Beth Moore

And when we pressed our heads to each other's hearts how did we not hear Carmen McRae singing? In Angela's fisted hands, Billie Holiday staggered past us and we didn't know her name. Nina Simone told us how beautiful we were and we didn't hear her voice. — Jacqueline Woodson

As a blogger, Chez Pazienza is filled with outrage, passion and insight
delivered with a distinctive point of view, a wicked sense of humor, and a two-fisted style of prose. In Dead Star Twilight, he turns all these on himself
and produces a fierce, funny, disturbing, but ultimately uplifting memoir. This is the book A Million Little Pieces dreamed of being. — Arianna Huffington

I point out. It was the most foolish, jape-fisted bit of buffoonery I have ever seen, and I am impressed in spite of that. — Robin LaFevers

Jack's face was now buried in his hands, his elbows still on his knees, and he hunched as he fisted his hair. "Ezra?" Evidence of his anguish to come was unmistakable in the catch of his voice.
Ezra's was solid. "Yes?"
"Don't let me kill myself. — Scarlett Dawn

That was the sound of a sneer."

"Was it?" Amused, aroused, he distracted her with a nibble on her bottom lip. "I can never tell the difference. And what sound is this?"

"What sound?"

He drove himself into her, one powerful and deep thrust that ripped a shocked cry from her throat.

"That one." He lowered his head, tasting the heat that rose to her flesh even as her hips arched to meet him. "And that one."

She struggled to get her breath back. "Tolerance," she managed.

"Oh, well, if that's the best we can do." He started to move back. She reared up, wrapped around him.

"I need to practice my tolerance." She skimmed the hair away from his face with her fingers, then fisted her hands. Her lips curved, met his. — J.D. Robb

Dair stared at his father's hand, fisted tight on the arm of his chair, and ignored the question. "I saw her in the bailey with her cat. A terrible beast."
Padraig grinned. "The lass or the cat? — Lecia Cornwall

She waited until she finished todo it, resisting the urge to play with herself. But dammit, when they got home she'd wank herself like a four-fisted monkey. — Tymber Dalton

Kitten ... " "Hmm?" I fisted the covers. "Just making sure you're still with me." He kissed the side of my leg, right above my knee. "Don't want you falling asleep or anything." Like sleep was possible. Ever. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

He had always prided himself on his ability to bargain, to bluff, to contain his ever-aching heart within the folds of his robes where no one could see his pain and his shame. Unconsciously, he reached up and fisted the little black pearl in his fingers, searching for words, praying to the Almighty for the words that would let him have her. But they would not come.
They were not needed, when the truth was in his eyes. — V.S. Carnes

Slowly, Joaquin leaned in, drawn closer to her against his will. Pursing his lips, he breathed warm air across her cheeks, like animals do when they learn each other's scent, learn to trust. "Easy now," he whispered in between the soft puffs of air. "Let go of the fear."
"I can't," she said, in a little broken voice that clenched at his heart.
"Yes you can." Joaquin let his lips touch her skin, the merest hint of a contact. She made a tiny sound of alarm, a cross between a sob and a cry. He brushed his mouth against hers. A shudder shook her body, but she pressed into him, seeking his shelter. Keeping his hands braced to the timber, he deepened the kiss. His mouth slanted over hers, bolder now.
Her hands rose between them and fisted into his shirt. — Tatiana March

Wakefield," she gasped, as her world began to tighten, as her hands fisted onto his jacket, her eyes grew wide open and looking at him.
They were still dark, still dangerous, so very full of passion, but she would have followed him, devil that he was, anywhere in that moment.
She was lost and he would show her the way.
"Pierson," he whispered back, his finger delving into her, sliding over her sex and sliding back inside her. Deeper. Harder.
She rocked against him, rode his touch, his strokes.
And when she said his name again, called it, gasped it, it was because he'd taken her over that edge, carried her into a world she couldn't have imagined.
"Pierson!" she cried out, her body quaking, falling, rising all at once. "Oh, Pierson, yes!"
For now she knew the way. — Elizabeth Boyle

Yes, there is a conspiracy, in fact there are a great number of conspiracies that are all tripping each other up. And all of those conspiracies are run by paranoid fantasists and ham-fisted clowns. If you are on a list targeted by the CIA, you really have nothing to worry about. If however, you have a name similar to somebody on a list targeted by the CIA, then you are dead. — Alan Moore

You scare me, Gage." Her eyes pleaded with him to understand. "You tore me up, ripped me apart. It took me a long time to put the pieces back together again."

His thumb grazed along her cheek in a soft caress. "I know baby, but I promise you, you have nothing to fear this time."

"How do you know that? How can you promise something like that?"

"Because I would die protecting you. I would slay dragons for you." He fisted her hair and brought his face close. "I would get on my knees and beg for you. — Sarah Curtis

He dragged his lips up the soft skin of her neck and gently nipped her ear lobe, sipping on the soft flesh. Her hands splayed against his chest.
Expecting a shove, his senses careened when her fingers fisted his surcoat. Their ragged breath overloud in the forest, he eased his face away, nose rubbing against her jaw on his retreat, and sought her eyes. Hers darkened and - Lord help him - held no censure, only interest.
He stepped back. — Angela Quarles

You calling me a tease, Abby? Look what you do. What you always do." He reached into his fly and brought out his fisted erection. So big. "Six months of your sitting on my lap. Wiggling around and laughing, no idea I wanted to fuck you through a wall. Don't you dare call me a tease. I've been teased. I'm so fucked up, I can't hear your name without getting hard. — Tessa Bailey

Hollywood always had a streak of the totalitarian in just about everything it did. The old moguls were essentially hard-fisted authoritarians who had created a system of linked dictatorships to control the creative people. We were supposed to be the children; mad, tempestuous, brilliant, talented, not terribly smart children. — Shirley Maclaine

Putting gloves on the fighters was a symbolic change that suggested that we were now making it a civilized sport, and it was no longer this crazy gladiatorial throwback to ancient Rome. It's even in our language: If you want to get serious and violent, what do you do? You "take the gloves off." Bare-fisted is supposedly a much more dangerous way to hit someone. But we've got it completely backward. The glove is a weapon. It massively accentuates the ability of the fist to do harm. — Jonathan Gottschall

It was a life that had left him rich in experience, but poor in goods of the world. The experience was the hard-fisted experience of cold winters, dry ranges, and the dusty bitterness — Louis L'Amour

The streets of every city in America are filled with men who would pay all the money they could lay their hands on to be transformed, even for a day, into hairy, hard-fisted brutes who walk all over cops, extort drinks from terrified bartenders and roar out of town on big motorcycles after raping the banker's daughter. — Hunter S. Thompson

As far back as Yossarian could recall, he explained to Clevinger with a patient smile, somebody was always hatching a plot to kill him. There were people who cared for him and people who didn't, and those who hated him were out to get him. They hated him because he was Assyrian. But they couldn't touch him, he told Clevinger, because he had a sound mind in a pure body and was as strong as an ox. They couldn't touch him because he was Tarzan, Mandrake, Flash Gordon. He was Bill Shakespeare. He was Cain, Ulysses, the Flying Dutchman; he was Lot in Sodom, Deirdre of the Sorrows, Sweeney in the nightingales among trees. He was miracle ingredient Z-247. He was -
Crazy!" Clevinger interrupted, shrieking. "That's what you are! Crazy!" "immense. I'm a real slam-bang, honest-to-goodness, three-fisted humdinger. I'm a bona fide Supraman."
"Superman?" Clevinger cried. "Superman?"
Supraman," Yossarian corrected. — Joseph Heller

I'm a real phony, one of those half-baked hot-house plants we're growing nowadays, instead of the honest-to-God two-fisted women we should be ... — Elaine Dundy

Most of us think wonderful things about people, but they never know it. Too many of us tend to be tight-fisted with our praise. It's of no value if all you do is think it; it becomes valuable when you impart it. — John C. Maxwell

If I must face this new trial, I would do it with my past fisted in my palm like a talisman reminding me if I could breathe it, I could write it, and when I wrote it, I would find freedom from it. Now, — Pepper Winters

I mean ... " Levi leaned forward, hands still fisted in his pockets. "I mean, I spent four months trying to kiss you and the last six weeks trying to figure out how I managed to fuck everything up. All I want now is to make it right, to make you see how sorry I am and why you should give me another chance. And I just want to know - are you rooting for me? Are you hoping I pull this off?"
Cath's eyes settled on his, tentatively, like they'd fly away if he moved.
She nodded her head.
The right side of his mouth pulled up.
"I'm rooting for you", she whispered.
She wasn't even sure he could hear from the bed.
Levi's smile broke free and devoured his whole face.
It started to devour her face, too.
Cath had to look away. — Rainbow Rowell

Insist on time with the person you love and make extended time for one another. learn to say no to desirable offers. get wise to the tricks of the multitude of thieves of your time and attention that swarm around you like gnats every second. have a clear vision of the life you want. You have to know what matters most to you, and you have to make time for that, with iron-fisted determination. Here is a hard and fast Law of Modern Life: if you do not take your time, it will be taken from you. If you do not insist on making time for what matters, you will not do what matters. If — Edward M. Hallowell

Wait for me."
If his voice was just a bit hoarse, she didn't seem to take note of it. She looked at him as though he had reached over and slapped her. "You don't trust me? After all that talk of taking me for my word - "
"This isn't about trust."
"That is precisely what this is about." Her fingers fisted in her skirts. "Because I've trusted you."
It hurt him to hear it. He didn't know what else to do. He had no contacts left. He was walking around now like a blind man. He didn't need the added weight of her safety on his conscience.
Caine's eyes fell away again. "Maybe you shouldn't."
That earned him a flustered: "You told me to! — V.S. Carnes

You know who likes to get fisted? Sock puppets. — Daniel Tosh

Logan took the kiss deeper. He thrust his tongue against hers, plunging into her mouth, just as he'd like to do to her body. All the while she ground her body into his. He fisted the fabric of her dress. In another moment, he'd be tempted to lift the skirt of that dress and take her, right there behind the bushes.
He broke the kiss and tried to regain his control and his breath. That was proving difficult with his hands still on her hips, pressing her close, but he wasn't ready to give up all of their contact quite yet. His gaze met hers. "I should apologize for that."
"Kiss me again and I'll consider forgiving you. — Cat Johnson

I once fisted two babies and then used the corpses as boxing gloves to fight off the grieving parents. — Zach Braff

At what point in your life did you decide you were the sort of guy who wanted to be fisted? — Lisa Henry

I was trying to make you jealous!" Simon screamed, right back. His hands were fisted at his sides. "You're so stupid, Clary. You're so stupid, can't you see anything?"
She stared at him in bewilderment. What on earth did he mean? "Trying to make me jealous? Why would you try to do that?"
She saw immediately that this was the worst thing she could have asked him.
"Because," he said, so bitterly that it shocked her, "I've been in love with you for ten years, so I thought it seemed like the time to find out whether you felt the same about me. Which, I guess you don't. — Cassandra Clare

I'm all sweaty," she said again, even as her hands fisted in his hair.
"That's okay," he said silkily, his mouth brushing her temple. "We're going to get even more so. — Jill Shalvis

School sounds a bunch more two-fisted than I'd thought. — Jonathan L. Howard

So he found her. Most people would have said she was relaxed. But then, Roarke thought, most people didn't really know and certainly didn't understand Eve Dallas. He was more intimate with her, closer to her mind and heart than he had ever been with another. Yet there were still pockets of her he had yet to plumb. She was, always, a fascinating learning experience. She was naked, dipped to her chin in steamy water and perfumed bubbles. Her face was flushed from the heat, her eyes closed, but she wasn't relaxed. He could see the tension in the hand that was fisted on the wide ledge of the tub, in the faint frown between her eyes. No, Eve was thinking, he mused. — J.D. Robb

In summer a young rooster's fancy turns to ... how can I say this delicately? The most ham-fisted attempts at courtship I've ever had to watch. (And yes, I'm including high school.) — Barbara Kingsolver

You're all right, Blue Eyes." She lifted her head to look into them. "You're all right, down the line. You ever want a free bang, you got one coming."
"It would, no doubt be a memorable bang. But my wife is fiercely jealous and territorial." He grinned over at a very cold-eyed Eve.
"Her? You? That's a kick in the ass."
"Every damn day," Eve muttered, and strode out.
She kept striding, out of the club, back into the comparatively fresh air of the city street. And fisted her hands on her hips as she spun to him. "Did you have to do the 'my wife' crap?"
His grin remained, and only widened. "I did, yes. I felt a desperate need for your protection. I believe that woman had designs on me."
"I'll put a design on you that won't come off in the shower."
"See, now I'm excited." Reaching out, he toyed with the lapel of her coat."What have you got in mind ? — J.D. Robb

[ ... ] outlining how certain fans of 'NSYNC like to imagine Justin Timber lake getting fisted by Lance Bass. Glenn Dixon surmised that much of the Contemporary Christian genre is driven by artists who literally want to fuck Jesus Christ. — Chuck Klosterman

She stepped closer to him, closer still, until her breasts touched his jacket, watching his eyes all the time. "My darling Jack." She lifted herself up on tiptoe and awkwardly kissed the side of his mouth. "I'm yours. You know that."
His control broke. His hands fisted in her hair and he kissed her hard, almost savagely. He knew he was bruising her mouth but he couldn't stop himself. It was as if her mouth were giving him life. He would stay alive as long as he was kissing her. — Lisa Marie Rice

Sky, you can't ignore this!" He stood under the street lamp, sleet settling in his hair, hands fisted at his side. "You're mine - you have to be. — Joss Stirling

Her husband sat silently while she talked, his hands fisted together, his half-smile set in concrete; he looked wisely down at the tablecloth. So this is marriage, I thought: this shared tedium, this twitchiness, and those little powdery runnels forming to the sides of the nose. — Margaret Atwood

To be a serious writer requires discipline that is iron fisted. It's sitting down and doing it whether you think you have it in you or not. Everyday. Alone. Without interruption. Contrary to what most people think, there is no glamour to writing. In fact, it's heartbreak most of the time. — Harper Lee

I wish there really was such a thing as a Time-Clock Puncher, though. I wish some gigantic, surly, stone-fisted Soap Mahoney-type guy went around the world smashing every clock in sight till there weren't any more and people got so confused about when to go to the mill or school or church that they gave up and did something interesting instead. — David James Duncan

Ted Basel to Jo Nehr, in Required Surrender, He kissed her shoulder. "Forget the rest of the world while you're here with me. It's only you and I because no one else matters." He fisted a hand her hair and the firm tugged got her blood singing. "I'll never judge you. Everything you do, you do for me. For my pleasure, remember that. — Riley Murphy

Golf is the Great Mystery. Like some capricous goddess, it bestows its favours with what would appear an almost fat-headed lack of method and discrimination. On every side we see big two-fisted he-men floundering round in three figures, stopping every few minutes to let through little shrimps with knock-knees and hollow cheeks, who are tearing up snappy seventy-fours. — P.G. Wodehouse

Look at you. Opening right up for me," Michaels said, softly, his fingers twisting and burying as deep as he could. He could feel Michaels' other fingers pressing against his flesh while the two inside him probed for depth. When Michaels picked up speed, his fingers jabbing in and out of him, Judge grunted and fisted the sheets. As soon as those fingers were gone, Judge felt an unbelievable void. He pumped his hips against the soft sheets, needing the friction, anything to take his mind off of feeling empty inside. He — A.E. Via

In case I'm not around to save your luscious ass, I wanted to know about the garage."
She tipped her head, then said with a straight face devoid of humor, "You think my ass is luscious?"
He fought off another grin and shrugged. "Even for a man with hands my size, it's big enough for a handful. But it's not out of proportion with your equally notable rack."
That must not have been the sweet talk Priss wanted, given her darkening expression.
Both hands fisted. "Pig."
"You asked. — Lori Foster

There are times when you've personally known things to misfire
the sentence that fell badly, the dull gift, slapdash comment, hobbled punch line, tight-fisted tip
trying to be too stupid, trying to be too clever, too silly, too carefree, too caring, too free. You can think back to those long and hollow pauses when you realised that you'd misjudged a mood, weren't paying attention, had taken the wrong risk. — A. L. Kennedy

Marvin Gaye said there's a song inside of me and I can't get it out. And I know it's in there, and I can feel that it's in there, and I can't get it out. There's so much that I want to say, and I haven't been able to figure out how to say it in my art. I can only say it in ham-fisted, clumsy, nonpoetic ways, and I'm trying to figure out how to talk about life and talk about love and talk about pain and trials and tribulation in an artistic form. — Will Smith

I am miracle ingredient Z-247. I'm immense. I'm a real, slam-bang, honest-to-goodness, three-fisted humdinger. I'm a bona fide supraman. — Joseph Heller

Men are tight-fisted in keeping control of their fortunes, but when it comes to the matter of wasting time, they are positively extravagant in the one area where there is honour in being miserly. — Seneca.

I'll park somewhere dark." She fisted his T-shirt, not even ashamed of her desperation. "Out of the way - "
"Tempting ... so ... fucking ... tempting."
He gently peeled her hand away, slammed the door, and got in the driver's side. Then he turned to her, the harsh planes of his face in the shadows creating a savage expression the stuck her tongue to the roof of her mouth.
"I need you in a bed tonight, Jillian. I need more than a fuck. I need to make love to you until neither one of us can move, because after tonight, I don't want there to be even the slightest doubt that you're mine. — Larissa Ione

Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. — Charles Dickens

Xhex: John, she said softty. He paused and looked over his shoulder toward the bed. I love you. His handsome face tightened in pain, and he rubbed the middle of his chest, as if someone had fisted up his heart and squeezed it dead. And then he turned away. As she hit the confines of her prison ... She was screaming at the top of her lungs. — J.R. Ward

His heart quickened and he fisted his hands.There was nothing for it. When he saw the tip of Seth's tongue lick his lips and felt a hardening beneath him that mirrored his own, movie and tree forgotten, he lunged, closing the distance between their mouths. — Leona Windwalker

It's incredible considering the public perception that he was tight fisted and he was more than prudent, and lacked ambition to take Tottenham to where the fans wanted them to be. — Alan Hansen

A natural saver is great until he never spends and is tight-fisted with giving. A natural spender is great until she finds herself deeply in debt and unable to give. A natural giver is great until there are no savings when a problem arises and there is no personal enjoyment of money. — Dave Ramsey

We're a nation of celebrity and hero worshipers, so much so that we make heroes out of those who aren't, such as John Wayne: a patriotic, red-blooded, two-fisted American who spent the Second World War in the trenches on the movie lots of Hollywood. — Vincent Bugliosi

Do you think I need the turmoil and complication you've brought into my life?
Dou you actually think I'd tolerate al that because we're good in bed?"
"You don't have to tolerate it" she fisted her hands on his chest. " you don't have to tolerate any of it."
"Damn right I don't. But I am tolerating it because I think I'm in love with you. — Nora Roberts

Stubbornness is surely just taut-jawed, clenched-fisted madness. — Richelle E. Goodrich

A simple hello could lead to a million things. "Yeah," Gus said. "Like herpes or getting fisted. — T.J. Klune

Funny thing how when you reach out, people tend to reach right back. Best, then, to make sure your hand is open and not fisted. — Richelle E. Goodrich

Slowly, but very deliberately, the brooding edifice of seduction, creaking and incongruous, came into being, a vast Heath Robinson mechanism, dually controlled by them and lumbering gloomily down vistas of triteness. With a sort of heavy-fisted dexterity the mutually adapted emotions of each of them became synchronised, until the unavoidable anti-climax was at hand. Later they dined at a restaurant quite near the flat. — Anthony Powell

The slight pull was all it took to completely unbalance his precarious load and dump the manure - all atop her boots.
"Bloody hell! Look what ye done!" the boy cried ... If ye hadn't come along and pulled me o'er it ne'er would have happened.But now ye'd best clean it up afore Devington or Jeffries comes along."
"Me?" she replied incredulously. "I'm not the clumsy oaf who dumped it. It's not my mess to clean."
"Well, I ain't about to be the last to finish my chores. Devington will have me turning over the reeking dung pit instead of breaking me fast wi' the other chaps."
"That's nothing compared to my boots, you ham-fisted lout!"
"Tweren't me what pulled the wheelbarrow arse over tea kettle, ye wantwit! Go bugger yer mother and lick yer boots clean!"
"I'll box your ears, you brazen-faced little jackanapes! ... — Emery Lee

I do not know if these hands will become Malcolm's - raised and fisted or Martin's - open and asking or James's - curled around a pen. I do not know if these hands will be Rosa's or Ruby's gently gloved and fiercely folded calmly in a lap, on a desk, around a book, ready to change the world . . . — Jacqueline Woodson

This is the evening of the two-fisted prayer — Kenneth Patchen

Part of her felt like she should take Wolf's hand, but the most intimate contact she'd ever had with him before was the occasional friendly punch to the jaw. It wouldn't have felt natural, so instead she stood just within arm's reach, her hands fisted in her pocket. — Marissa Meyer

War's lips quivered as tears welled in his eyes. He fisted his hands in Fain's braids for comfort. 'It's Vega ... she done threw me out and locked the door. She said she don't want no man around her ever again and that so long as I have a penis, I can't come in anymore. I like my penis, Paka, but I love my sister. Do I really have to choose between them? I mean, I guess I'll choose my sister, but I'd really like to keep them both if I could. — Sherrilyn Kenyon

Well I'm an eight ball shooting, double-fisted drinking son of a gun — Gretchen Wilson

We will never known what opportunities we may have missed in life by showing up tight-fisted. It is hard to receive anything if we don't open our hands to give. — Bruna Martinuzzi

Blindly, I ran to Archer, who was sitting on one of the thick mats we'd used in Defense. His elbows rested on his raised knees, and he had his head in his hands. I knelt in front of him, awkwardly wrapping my arms around his neck. He uncurled himself, pulling me to him. For a long time, we held each other, my hands fisted in his hair; his, stroking my back.
"I'm okay," he said at last. "I know that's hard to believe, but nothing hurts. I mean, except for my mind and soul, but those were always a little broken." Gently, we disentangled ourselves and rose to our feet. "Your magic is awesome, man," he said to Cal, who I just realized was standing at the edge of the mat, next to Jenna. "Although I have to say, now that you've brought me back from the edge of death-what, like, hundreds of times?-I'm starting to feel like our relationship is a little unbalanced."
"You can buy me a burger when we get out of here," Cal said, and as usual, I had no idea if he was joking or not. — Rachel Hawkins

Now, let's go back to me bein' like chocolate that melts in your mouth."
"That isn't exactly what I meant," I told him, his arms went around me and he rolled to his back, taking me with him. Then his hand sifted into my hair, fisted gently and my head came up.
"I would hope not, darlin', seein' as every time you take me in your mouth, the last thing I do is melt. — Kristen Ashley

The US, for historical reasons, mistrusts the concept of a welfare state, and this mistrust shows itself nakedly under present US government, which commits uncounted billions of the national wealth to what it calls defence, and is close-fisted in giving money to plans which would ameliorate the grinding poverty of a great part of its people. Quite simply, in Canada you could not get away with that. — Robertson Davies

I'm leaving." Her cold lips barely moved as she mouthed the words.
Horror fisted around his vitals. "No."
For the first time she met his eyes. Hers were red-rimmed but dry. "I have to leave,
Simon."
"No." He was a little boy denied a sweet. He felt like falling down and screaming.
"Let me go."
"I can't let you go." He half laughed here in the too-bright, cold London sun before his own
house. "I'll die if I do."
She closed her eyes. "No, you won't. I can't stay and watch you tear yourself apart."
"Lucy."
"Let me go, Simon. Please." She opened her eyes, and he saw infinite pain in her gaze.
Had he done this to his angel? Oh, God. He unclasped his hands. — Elizabeth Hoyt