Quotes & Sayings About Gentle Hands

Squeeze! Squeeze! Squeeze! all the morning long; I squeezed that sperm till I myself almost melted into it; I squeezed that sperm till a strange sort of insanity came over me, and I found myself unwittingly squeezing my co-labourers' hands in it, mistaking their hands for the gentle globules. Such an abounding, affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this avocation beget; that at last I was continually squeezing their hands, and looking up into their eyes sentimentally, as much as to say, - Oh! my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill humour or envy! Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness. — Herman Melville

Pethi mou, you are one special lady. Take care of yourself. If you ever need anything, you know where I am."

Then he surprised her by placing a kiss on her cheek. She savored the feel of his lips as they feathered against her skin, the gentle caressing of his hands in her hair, and she couldn't help nuzzling against him.

He inhaled sharply.

He cupped her head, his fingers strong, yet gentle. He kissed her hungrily. — Joanne Walsh

Didn't I stand there once,
white-knuckled, gripping the just-lit taper,
swearing I'd never go back?
And hadn't you kissed the rain from my mouth?
And weren't we gentle and awed and afraid,
knowing we'd stepped from the room of desire
into the further room of love?
And wasn't it sacred, the sweetness
we licked from each other's hands?
And were we not lovely, then, were we not
as lovely as thunder, and damp grass, and flame? — Cecilia Woloch

Guard for me my eyes, Jesus, Son of Mary, lest seeing others' wealth make me covetous. Guard for me my ears, lest they harken to slander, lest they listen to folly in the sinful world. Guard for me my heart, O Christ, in Thy love, lest I ponder wretchedly the desire of any iniquity. Guard for me my hands, that they be not stretched out for quarreling, or practice shameful idleness. Guard for me my feet upon the gentle earth. . . . lest they be bent on profitless errands. Amen. - ANCIENT IRISH PRAYER — David P. Gushee

you like men. So let's honour your tradition and do this your way." She came back wearing a strap-on. Martha took it in her hands and was surprised to see her fingers looked pale and gentle, unusually feminine against the skin-coloured rod. She wanted to take it in her mouth, but Petra said no again. "When you want a man, how do you want him?" she heard. "What do you ask your men to do? Tell me." She brushed her mouth against Martha's knees and thighs, then pulled apart her legs and slid in like a snake. They both stood still for a moment. Petra kissed her and did not stop kissing when she started swaying, and Martha was filled with slithering and enveloped by a thousand arms. Later they lay entangled, forgetting about time. — Lydia Perovic

Layne walked up to him and put both hands to his son's neck, giving it a firm squeeze, he looked him in the eyes and whispered, "Fucked up with you, know it, but you're a fuckin' good kid despite that and, even though I didn't have much to do with it, I'm proud of you." He gave his son's neck a gentle jerk and finished. "Love you, Bud. — Kristen Ashley

Always meet petulance with gentleness and perverseness with kindness. A gentle hand can lead even en elephant by a hair. Reply to thine enemy with gentleness. — Zoroaster

I want these gentle hands ... and this kind smile ... although I should not want such a thing. — Matsuri Hino

This hand, to tyrants ever sworn the foe, For Freedom only deals the deadly blow; Then sheathes in calm repose the vengeful blade, For gentle peace in Freedom's hallowed shade. — John Quincy Adams

Hands grab me, steady me. I jerk back, but they are surprisingly gentle. He doesn't smile as I turn to see his face. He just stands there, letting me inspect him. He's tall with a wide forehead and dark blond hair that's cut short. His green eyes are deeply set beneath that forehead. His lips are wide and rugged like the rest of him. His hands have huge knuckles like he's a boxer or arthritic or hits walls. He looks like he did when he pulled me out of the car, but stronger, taller somehow. He must be completely healed. He looks my age and he looks good, like the guy in high school that everyone, even the teachers, fall in love with. — Carrie Jones

And you may find somebody kind to help and understand you
Someone who is just like you and needs a gentle hand to guide them along
So maybe I'll see you there
We can forget all our troubles, forget all our cares, and go
Downtown, things'll be great when you're
Downtown, don't wait a minute more
Downtown, everything's waiting for you — Petula Clark

We were dandelion seeds released to the wind, she asked for no return. We are saplings now. With gentle hands. — Sarah Kay

A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, bringing with it the scent of fresh-turned earth and lavender blossoms. Amanda drew to the side of the balcony, where she was completely concealed from view. As she leaned against the wall of the house, the rough texture of the red brick gently abraded her bare shoulders.
She had worn a pale blue, corded-silk gown with a low-cut back, and draperies of gauze that crossed over the bodice in an X pattern. The long sleeves of the gown were made of more transparent gauze, while her hands were encased in white gloves. The flash of her bare arms beneath the filmy blue silk made Amanda feel sophisticated and daring. — Lisa Kleypas

Why do you always talk like that? With a hand in front of your mouth?" "Because it's too large." And I could not remember to think of peas and prunes and prisms. "Who told you that?" "My aunt." "And what else has she told you?" "That I'm much too tall." "Has she?" "Yes." I said it in a whisper because Harry had come so very close and his lips were hovering just above mine. "I'm afraid that . . . I might just . . . kiss you. If that's all right." "Oh, Harry . . ." What a strange sensation, to feel Harry's lips upon mine. So warm and gentle and giving. Especially when Franklin's had been so hard and urgent and demanding. He broke away with a sigh. Placed a hand to either side of my neck and stared at me for a long moment . . . just stood there looking deeply into my eyes. And then he slid his hands down to my shoulders and clasped me to himself. "It seems just fine to me." The words were whispered into my ear. "What does?" "Your mouth. And you. You're perfect just the way you are. — Siri Mitchell

He earned his love through discipline, a thundering velvet hand, his gentle means of sculpting souls took me years to understand. — Dan Fogelberg

I felt on my back gentle pats like fragile wings just touching me, touching me: my grandchildren's hands. — Bret Lott

In her room death would come as a friend, a friend with cool gentle hands ... — Mary Higgins Clark

His hands were achingly gentle as he lowered her to the platform, and lingered a second too long after her feet were firmly planted, or not nearly long enough. — Marissa Meyer

Can I have this dance?"
He held out his arms expectantly, waiting as she grappled with her feelings. She gazed up into his eyes. One heartbeat later she slipped into his arms and he pulled her close. Her palm against his was heady, sending all sorts of tingles coursing up and down her arm. His other hand, on the small of her back, kept her close. They were awkward at first, but kept at it. He hummed as they moved around in a circle, her skirt swishing against her legs and sometimes tangling between his. A slow burn started on her neck. When they finished he let her go and took a small step back.
"Charlie, I..."
"Stop talking, Nell."
His eyes closed and his lips covered hers. The kiss was gentle as he pulled her tighter against him, driving all thought from her mind. His hands moved down and bracketed her waist and he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. — Caroline Fyffe

Tin Win sat at an open window, his head buried in his hands. She called his name, but he did not react. With a shrill whistle blast, the engine started to move. Su Kyi walked along beside the window. The train picked up speed. The wheezing grew louder and stronger. She started to run. Stumbled. Bowled into a man, jumped over a basket of fruit. Then the platform came to an end. The two rear lights shone like tiger's eyes in the night. Slowly they vanished behind a gentle curve. When Su Kyi turned around the platform was empty. — Jan-Philipp Sendker

What did they want, those violent man, ragged, bellowing and wild-eyed, who with clubs and pikes poured through the ancient streets of distracted Paris? They wanted to put an end to oppression, tyranny, and the sword, they wanted work for all men, education for their children, security for their wives, liberty, equality, fraternity, food enough to go round, freedom of thought, the edenization of the world. In a word they wanted progress, that hallowed, good, and gentle thing, and they demanded it in a terrible fashion with oaths on their lips and weapons in their hands. They were barbarous, yes; but barbarians in the cause of civilization. — Victor Hugo

She squeezed her eyes closed. She heard the buggy stop, heard Colin's boots hit the ground, knew that he strode toward her side of the wagon. "Felicia, where do you think you're going?" "Away," she whispered. Strong hands closed around her waist, and suddenly she was airborne, lifted off the wagon seat and then set gently on the ground. Her eyes flew open. "You're not going anywhere, Miss Kristoffersen. Not until I've done this." His lips claimed hers in the kiss she'd longed for, even when she hadn't known it. The kiss was gentle, yet it sent her senses reeling. She felt turned upside down and wrong side out. His arms gathered her closer, and she felt their hearts beating as one. Oh, if they could only stay like this forever. — Robin Lee Hatcher

Jus hold me a little longer, Jack. Tell me again that ya wanna be with me, fer real, cross yer heart 'n' let me know you ain't foolin', cause I dunno how or when it happen but somehow I come ta need ya like air, like blood. Touch me again like ya do with them gentle hands make me feel like somethin' precious. Say it again that ya love me, cause hearin' that was like openin' up some big bottomless well that ran dry years back and it cain't never be full enough now, I cain't never hear it enough, but once more, one more time and maybe I'll believe it a little more, and then a little more the next time, till someday I believe it fer true enough ta be able to say it back ta you like y'oughta hear it said cause God knows I love you more'n my own life, more'n anythin' in this world, but it cain't get outta me yet cause I still ain't the man I need ta be, the man who's gonna stand before you and declare. — Jane Seville

If I were a poet, that's what I'd write about. People who worked in the middle of the night. Men who loaded trains, emergency room nurses with their gentle hands. Night clerks in hotels, cabdrivers on graveyard, waitresses in all-night coffee shops. They knew the world, how precious it was when a person remembered your name, the comfort of a rhetorical question, "How's it going, how's the kids?" They knew how long the night was. They knew the sound life made as it left. It rattled, like a slamming screen door in the wind. Night workers lived without illusions, they wiped dreams off counters, they loaded freight. They headed back to the airport for one last fare. — Janet Fitch

He finds his way up the side of my neck, biting me just a little, moving lightly back and forth, like he's searching for a special spot. When he finds it, I make small sound I've never heard myself make before, like a gasp. He traces his tongue in slow circles around that spot. I realise my hands are just lying in my lap, doing nothing. I concentrate on lifting my arm and reaching for his face, but he catches my hand and holds it tightly at the wrist. His lips leave the spot and find their way back to my mouth, which is waiting, hoping for his return. He plants a gentle kiss on my lower lip and then whispers in my ear, I just got lucky, Rose. — Louise Rozett

I was a possession he had a right to use, a woman with no feelings that mattered." Wedderburn still did not speak. "I don't want to feel like that again," she said in a whisper. Wedderburn's eyes were dark with a violent emotion, but his hands were gentle as he held her face. "You'll never be just any woman to me," he said. "I want to know you, Alison Douglas. — Margaret Mallory

We have lit upon the gentle, sensitive mind And lost the old nonchalance of the hand; Whether we have chosen chisel, pen or brush, We are but critics, or but half create. — William Butler Yeats

A strong nation, like a strong person, can afford to be gentle, firm, thoughtful, and restrained. It can afford to extend a helping hand to others. It's a weak nation, like a weak person, that must behave with bluster and boasting and rashness and other signs of insecurity. — Jimmy Carter

My dear Daniela, I cannot defy My written Word. Do not be unequally yoked with an unbeliever. You are my beloved daughter. I will not place your tender heart into the hands of a man who has not surrendered his life to Me. Besides, he has no means to care for you. Have I not written even in days of old, that a man is to care for his wife? That is not your role. It is his. Pray for him." Yahweh's gentle voice soothed Daniela's soul. — J. Nell Brown

She opened her mouth to answer, but he was already kissing her. She had kissed him so many times - soft gentle kisses, hard and desperate ones, brief brushes of the lips that said good-bye, and kisses that seemed to go on for hours - and this was no different. The way the memory of someone who had once lived in a house might linger even after they were gone, like a sort of psychic
imprint,
her
body remembered
Jace.
Remembered the way he tasted, the slant of his mouth over hers, his scars under her fingers, the shape of his body under her hands. — Cassandra Clare

Rom. [To Juliet.] If I profane with my unworthiest hand97 This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this; My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tenderkiss. Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,101 Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.104 Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. Rom. O! then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.108 Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. Rom. Then move not, while my prayers' effect I take. Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purg'd. [Kissing her. Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took.112 Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd! Give me my sin again. Jul. You kiss by the book. — William Shakespeare

How do you surrender when every cell of your being is screaming that your life is not working and that you need to do something to make it work? How do you surrender in that moment when jealousies, envy, doubt, rage, resentment all rise up inside you? You accept that you are resisting letting go; you accept that perhaps you are not yet ready to take your hands off the steering wheel; you accept this with kindness to who you are in the moment, being gentle and tender instead of beating yourself over the head with the 'Must hurry up, time is of the essence, everyone is passing me by' train of thought. — Kelly Martin

Sam was stiff and tired. He crept onto the houseboat, careful not to wake anyone, and sidled down the narrow passage to his bunk. The shades were drawn and of course there were no lights, so he felt his way to the edge of his bed and crawled across it on hands and knees to find his pillow.
He collapsed on his back.
But even at the edge of sleep he was aware of something different about the bed.
Then he felt soft breath on his cheek.
He turned and her lips were on his. Not gentle. Not soft. She kissed him hard, and it was like he'd been awakened by an electric power line.
She kissed him and slid on top of him.
Their bodies did the rest.
At some point in the hours that followed he said, "Astrid?"
"Don't you think you should have made sure of that about three times ago?" Astrid said in her familiar, slightly condescending tone.
They said many things to each other after that, but nothing that involved words. — Michael Grant

Under his buckskin riding-coat he wore a black vest and the cravat and collar of a churchman. A young priest, at his devotions; and a priest in a thousand, one knew at a glance. His bowed head was not that of an ordinary man, - it was built for the seat of a fine intelligence. His brow was open, generous, reflective, his features handsome and somewhat severe. There was a singular elegance about the hands below the fringed cuffs of the buckskin jacket. Everything showed him to be a man of gentle birth - brave, sensitive, courteous. His manners, even when he was alone in the desert, were distinguished. He had a kind of courtesy toward himself, toward his beasts, toward the juniper tree before which he knelt, and the God whom he was addressing. — Willa Cather

Then I felt something inside me break and music began to pour out into the quiet. My fingers danced; intricate and quick they spun something gossamer and tremulous into the circle of light our fire had made. The music moved like a spiderweb stirred by a gentle breath, it changed like a leaf twisting as it falls to the ground, and it felt like three years Waterside in Tarbean, with a hollowness inside you and hands that ached from the bitter cold. — Patrick Rothfuss

With a gentle pressure, our lips met. His hands slipped more firmly about me, and I held myself back, not afraid, but wanting to feel everything slowly as I leaned in, tasting the wine on him, feeling the warmth of his body pressing into mine, breathing in our scents that were mingling and changing with the warmth. My hands rose to find his hair, and I relaxed into him as the silky strands brushed through my fingers. I wanted more, and I leaned into him as our lips moved against each other. — Kim Harrison

I've heard it said that grace is God reaching God's hands into the world. And the Bible tells us that we are part of the body of Christ, that if we let the Spirit move through us, we can become the hands of Christ on earth. Hands that heal, bless, unite, and love. I'd like to think God's hands are a bit like Grace's man hands - gentle but big, busy, and tough. God's hands are those of a creator - an artist who molded and shaped the universe out of a void, who hewed matter from nothingness. — Cathleen Falsani

The town stood witness to her fall As she crashed to the earth Exposed and utterly vulnerable Her secret lives, lies and truths Stained her skin and lay in mounds at her feet Her foes sat in judgment as a jury, But love came . . . with gentle hands Love dried her tears Love covered her shame Love sheltered her with compassion Love accepted her anyway Love embraced her Love welcomed her home. — Deborah Grace Staley

What - ? In one movement, Thorne lifted her onto the desk and pressed her back against an enormous potted fern and - oh. Cress had built a thousand fantasies around their rooftop kiss, but this kiss was something new. Where before, the kiss had been gentle and protective, now there was something passionate. Determined. Cress's body dissolved into nothing but sensation. His hands burned her waist through the skirt's thin fabric. Her knees pressed against his hips, and he pulled her closer, closer, like he couldn't get her close enough. A whimper escaped her mouth, only to be swallowed by his. She heard a moan, but it could have come from either of them. — Marissa Meyer

For animals that are overworked, underfed, and cruelly treated; for all wistful creatures in captivity that beat their wings against bars; for any that are hunted or lost or deserted or frightened or hungry; for all that must be put to death ... and for those who deal with them we ask a heart of compassion and gentle hands and kindly words. — Albert Schweitzer

The money hits the floor, and my hands immediately frame her face. She has skin so soft that I worry about damaging her with a gentle touch. Her breathing hitches as my lips come close to hers. I'm going to kiss her. "Tell me I'm who you want." So I know there are no mistakes.
Her nose slides against mine as she slowly nods. "I don't want anyone else."
God help us both for her allowing the devil permission. — Katie McGarry

Here follows the substance of what I said, written out entirely for your benefit. Pay attention to it, or you will be all abroad, when we get deeper into the story. Clear your mind of the children, or the dinner, or the new bonnet, or what not. Try if you can't forget politics, horses, prices in the city and grievances at the club. I hope you won't take this freedom on my part amiss; it's only a way I have of appealing to a gentle reader. Lord! haven't I seen you with the greatest authors in your hands, and don't I know how ready your attention is to wander when it's a book that asks for it, instead of a person? — Wilkie Collins

These hands," he squeezed them both on my face to make his point, "will never touch you without being gentle. Unless that's not what you want, of course." His eyebrow lifted waiting for me to balk, but I just waited. "These arms will never hold you back, but I'll hold you as tight as you'll let me. I can't wait for you to be all mine. You belong to me in every way, Maggie. Mine." I nodded in his hands. He leaned closer and whispered, "Say it."
I didn't wait a beat. "I belong to you." And he belonged to me.
He grinned. "You're daggum right you do. — Shelly Crane

They dream of men with gentle hands, eloquent with tenderness, fingers that brushed along a cheek, that outlined open lips in the lovers' braille. Hands that sculpted sweetness from sullen flesh, that traced breast and ignited hips, opening, kneading. Flesh becomes bread in the heat of those hands, braided and rising. — Janet Fitch

Park is faster, but their pursuit seems almost ideological - a matter of committed belief. It's as though they were appointed to the task of laying hands on him, of bringing him back into the gentle fold, of taking him home.

They follow him all the way down to the ground floor. He bursts through the stairwell door, sprints down the hall, and ducks into an alcove where two vending machines stand gutted, their weighty doors cracked opened with a prybar. He wedges his body between them, pulls the knife and crouches down. His pulse is throbbing. He struggles to regain his breath, to silence himself. — Jonathan R. Miller

Here's the "explorer" paragraph: Lydia swayed into him, her back arching, but his hands caught her. His warm hand splayed wide against her upper back. The other ventured lower, massaging circles, lower, lower. Edwards's hands, like his kisses, belonged to an explorer, not a ruthless conqueror. Testing and checking, his firm but gentle caresses enticed her into his web of curiosity and question. His kisses, his touch were not the rehearsed moves of a long-practiced rake, but genuine affection and sensuality braided into an explosive mix that promised to incinerate them on the spot if they didn't stop. — Gina Conkle

The kiss wasn't just any kiss. No, it was a tricky little bastard, because it started out soft and gentle, but shifted gears in a matter of seconds. The moment her response went from surprise to surrender, the kiss turned hard and hungry, launching us into a frenzy of movement. Her arms were around my neck, my hands were moving all over her body, and somehow, in a span of about five seconds, she climbed up me like a tree, her legs wrapped tightly around my waist.
We spun and bumped into the counter. I reached behind my back with one hand to tighten the cross of her ankles. And then I had her sitting on the edge of the stovetop, my hands exploring the tops of her thighs. I pushed the ruffled skirt hem up and clasped on to her bare, silky skin. Her tongue dove to the back of my throat, sliding over mine like wet, slick velvet.
Holy mother fuck, I couldn't breathe. I was drowning in this girl. — Rachael Wade

She despised her nakedness beneath the thin hospital gown and tried to wave Paul out of the room. But he shushed her and stood firmly planted beside the table where she lay. He held her gaze, forcing her to look into his eyes. He smoothed her forehead with gentle hands, and she winced, not in pain but in humiliation. Paul closed her eyes gently with his fingers and let his large warm hands rest lightly on her forehead, covering her eyes with the palm of his hand as though he could take away her self-imposed shame by sparing her his scrutiny. She loved him all the more for the act. — Deborah Raney

Wi' basket oft shoo walks abroad To some poor lonely elf; To ivery one shoo knaws t' reight way At's poorer nor(2) herself. Shoo niverr speyks o' what shoo gives, Kind, gentle-hearted sowl; I' charity her hands find wark, Shoo's good alike to all. — Frederic William Moorman

Dear Charles, she wrote.
After writing to express my appreciation for all the generosity of our friends, I would be remiss indeed if I did not include a missive to you. Out of all the new blessings in my new life, the one I thank God for the most is you. I thank you for writing to me through Genteel Correspondence, and for choosing me out of all the other women eager for adventure in the wild west.
I thank you for your kindness, and your gentleness toward me. Only very strong men can be gentle. I thank you for sharing your home and your life with me. I thank you for inventing delicious breakfasts. And chicory flavored coffee. And prayers that ease my mind and inspire my spirit and lift my heart. For your smile and the way you hold your hat in your hands. For the things you say and how you say them.
Did you know that I pray for you each day? I do. I pray for your safety and happiness.
Yours in Christ,
Rose — Jan Holly

In the long ago, in the gentle days, Brother Grumlow carved wood, worked with saw and chisel. When hard times come carpenters are apt to get nailed to crosses. Grumlow took up the knife and learned to carve men. He looks soft, my brother of the blade, slight in build, light in colour, weak chin, sad eyes, all of him drooping like the moustache that hangs off his lip. Yet he has fast hands and no fear of a sharp edge. Come against him with just a dagger for company and he will cut you a new opinion. — Mark Lawrence

At that moment I had a thrilling sharp intuition. I knew it as if I held it in my hands: In the gloom of death that surrounded the two of us, we were just at the point of approaching and negotiating a gentle curve. If we bypassed it, we would split off into different directions. In that case, we would forever remain just friends. — Banana Yoshimoto

The mental agony I have suffered, during the last two days, wrings from me the avowal to you of a passion which, as you well know, is not one of yesterday, nor one I have lightly formed. On Rose, sweet, gentle girl! my heart is set, as firmly as ever heart of man was set on woman. I have no thought, no view, no hope in life, beyond her; and if you oppose me in this great stake, you take my peace and happiness in your hands, and cast them to the wind. Mother, think better of this, and of me, and do not disregard the happiness of which you seem to think so little. — Charles Dickens

You have captured me utterly, and you hold my heart in your hands. Be gentle with it. It's more fragile than you might think. — J. Kenner

I remind myself of what [Bishop's] father's done. What he is still doing. But Bishop's touch is gentle, his intentions good. No matter how hard I look, I cannot find the blood on his hands. — Amy Engel

She drank in the sight of him, the power, the virility, the sheer sexiness. She knew just how well those lips of his kissed, how gentle and coaxing his hands could be, and how mouth-watering his body was. — Donna Grant

He unraveled at light speed, his release sharp, bewildering and beautiful. His hips were still convulsively moving against her body as he settled down over her, too exhausted and spent to remember his own name. The one he'd demanded she say just moments ago.
He became aware of gentle caresses. Her hands gently stroking over his back. He was probably crushing her but he couldn't bring himself to move. He was inside her. Over her. Completely covering her. She was his. — Maya Banks

Graham runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. Finally, with a determined scowl, he crosses the room. His hands grip my shoulders. "We are not," his voice is a gentle tremor, "breaking up — Tammara Webber

Anyone can turn,Aidan. Any one of us without a lifemate. Gregori glided across the room because he could not stand the physical distance Savannah had put between them. Her eyes were once again shadowed and haunted, the memorial service filling her with sadness and guilt.He slipped behind her chair,his hands coming down on her shoulders to begin a gentle massage. He neeed the contact as much as she did.
Aidan hid his shock.He had known Gregori for centuries, had learned healing arts from him, had learned to stalk and kill the vampire from him. Nothing ever touched Gregori. Nothing. No one.But those cold silver eyes, as they swept over Savannah, were molten mercury, the man's posture clearly protective, possessive, and the touch on her shoulders was frankly tender. — Christine Feehan

A Paradise for you and me
Trust, true love to guide us free
Loneliness shall not fill the day
I will forever be with you
Our Love is beautiful like the sunshine lighting the way
Your gentle feel
Your caring hands
There is no doubt in your soul
No eerie place in your heart to express this feeling
Our compassion flows in the waves just to save and brighten my day My heart has no hoes Awaiting your pace
to touch this place
Our love, withstanding all odds Diminishing hate, in our thoughts There is no place I rather be til eternity... Than in your soul, life and in your dreams... I am here to stay with you forever. — Henry Johnson Jr

We need to be kinder with one another, more gentle and forgiving. We need to be slower to anger and more prompt to help. We need to extend the hand of friendship and resist the hand of retribution. In short, we need to love one another with the pure love of Christ, with genuine charity and compassion and, if necessary, shared suffering, for that is the way God loves us. — Howard W. Hunter

God in his harmony has equal ends
For cedar that resists and reed that bends;
For good it is a woman sometimes rules,
Holds in her hand the power, and manners, schools,
And laws, and mind; succeeding master proud,
With gentle voice and smiles she leads the crowd,
The somber human troop. — Victor Hugo

They held hands and knew that only the coffin would lie in the earth; the bubbly laughter and the press of fingers in the palm would stay aboveground forever. At first, as they stood there, their hands were clenched together. They relaxed slowly until during the walk back home their fingers were laced in as gentle a clasp as that of any two young girlfriends trotting up the road on a summer day wondering what happened to butterflies in the winter. — Toni Morrison

You can close your eyes and think of England, if you like."
"I've never even been to England," she said, but she shut her eyelids. She could feel the dank heaviness of her clothes, cold and itchy against her skin, and the cloying sweet air of the cave, colder yet, and the weight of Jace's hands on her shoulders, the only things that were warm. And then he kissed her.
She felt the brush of his lips, light at first, and her own opened automatically beneath the pressure. Almost against her will she felt herself go fluid and pliant, stretching upward to twine her arms around his neck the way that a sunflower twists toward light. His arms slid around her, his hands knotting in her hair, and the kiss stopped being gentle and became fierce, all in a single moment like tinder flaring into a blaze. — Cassandra Clare

I want you to stay here ...with me."
"All night?"
"All night."
Drew cupped her face with his hands giving her a gentle kiss. "In my arms. — Mary J. Williams

Just as before, Cale moved swiftly into his next hold. His arm shot out like a whip, giving her no time to react. Powerful hands wrapped around her small throat, and he squeezed with a gentle pressure, enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough to really hurt her. He meant to prove a point, but Analia knew this hold well, had been on the receiving end of it many times. This was a hold that could easily render her unconscious. She kept steady, oddly feeling safe even though her pulse spiked wildly.
'How should you counter?' Cale asked.
'I could kick you in your bollocks.'
He smiled at her candor. 'Aye, you could, but a man of any brains would expect a move like that in this position. A better move would be to raise your arm up and bring your elbow down across my arms. If you learn to do it right, you will break my hold, and will be able to get yourself in a more suitable position for a counterattack. Then you go for the bollocks.'"

-Cale & Analia — Kiersten Fay

Still, Lindsay stops getting dressed, even though he's only half-done, because he gets this urge to ambush the kid with a hug. Just that, nothing else. He wraps his arms around Valentine's skinny body and pulls him close and rests his cheek on the still-damp hair and inhales the cherry-almond scent of his shampoo, and Valentine says, "Oh!" in a really odd way, like he's just read a particularly interesting fact on the back of a Penguin biscuit wrapper. Lindsay's got his eyes shut but he can feel the kid's hands creeping up his bare arms, over his shoulders. One stays there and the other comes to rest on the back of his neck, fingers playing idly with the ends of his hair, and several minutes pass without sound or movement, just the gentle thud of heartbeats.
"What's that for?" Valentine asks, when Lindsay finally lets him go.
"Don't know. Nothing. Just seemed the kind of thing you'd like. BAM, surprise ninja cuddles. — Richard Rider

I look down at my hands. They are what Dancer called them - cut, scarred, burned things. When Eo kissed them, they grew gentle for love. Now that she is gone, they grown hard for hate. — Pierce Brown

Here," Myrnin said, his voice still gentle and low. "Amelie said you had to work. No one said you had to work alone." He picked up the next part and slotted it in, took the screwdriver from Claire's numbed fingers, and fastened it with a couple of deft, fast movements. "I'll be your hands."
She wanted to cry, because it was so sweet, but it wouldn't do any good. — Rachel Caine

My head rested on his shoulder, my heart rested entirely in his hands And in a whisper, my words escaped: "I love you." He probably hadn't heard them. He was too focused on the movie. But he heard me; I could tell. His arms enveloped me even further; his embrace tightened. He breathed in and sighed, and his hand played with my hair. "Good," he said softly, and his gentle lips found mine. — Ree Drummond

True zeal is an ignis lambeus, a soft and gentle flame, that will not scorch one's hand. — Ralph Cudworth

In my Lifetime, I hope to develop, Arms that are strong, Hands that are gentle, Ears that will listen, Eyes that are kind, A tongue that will speak softly, A mind full of wisdom, A heart that understands. — Javan

All day long, one storm then another - and I take your hands like gentle flowers that blossom into awareness — John Geddes

Eventually, after listening to a good deal of grumbling and muttering, Jessica felt the bed dip. A calloused hand reached for hers. "It is late?" she asked. "Late enough." "Hold me?" How gentle were those powerful arms as they gathered her close. Jessica pressed her face against Richard's neck and sighed at the pleasure of the warmth. His hint of a beard was rough against her forehead but she didn't mind that either. She put her hands on the hard wall of his chest and let the heat of his body seep into hers. Richard's hand trembled as he brushed her hair back from her face and she knew it was because he was trying to be gentle. She snuggled closer to him and felt herself drifting off to sleep. — Lynn Kurland

This was how God had intended it to be. A precious gift. A sacred oneness.
I love you. He said the words in the way he held her, his rock hard arms so gentle they felt like air around her. I love you. His hands told her-not merely touching her, but worshiping her. — Catherine Anderson

She imagined his hands, large and warm. Strong, but surely gentle. — Haruki Murakami

We were still so young when our eyes first met. We would run holding hands through the lawn of the college campus. I vividly remember the grass beneath the cherry tree that had water at the tip which touched our legs. I vividly remember how we would talk about our future as the sun rays sparkled like diamonds through the leaves of the trees outside the campus auditorium. I vividly remember your urge to touch my erratic strands in the gentle breeze outside the canteen. And then we allowed distance to conquer the space between us so we could build a career, sculpt a life and keep the promises. And did we not do well! — Debalina Haldar

You can sit down with that fearful child inside and be gentle with him or her. You might say something like this: Dear little child, I am your adult self. I would like to tell you that we are no longer a baby, helpless and vulnerable. We have strong hands and strong feet; we can very well defend ourselves. So there is no reason why we have to continue to be fearful anymore. — Thich Nhat Hanh

Hope is willing to leave unanswered questions unanswered and unknown futures unknown. Hope makes you see God's guiding hand not only in the gentle and pleasant moments but also in the shadows of disappointment and darkness. — Henri Nouwen

The girls I dream of are the gentle ones, wistful by high windows or singing sweet old songs at a piano, long hair drifting, tender as apple blossom. But a girl who goes into battle beside you and keeps your back is a different thing, a thing to make you shiver. Think of the first time you slept with someone, or the first time you fell in love: that blinding explosion that left you cracking to the fingertips with electricity, initiated and transformed. I tell you that was nothing, nothing at all, beside the power of putting your lives, simply and daily, into each other's hands. — Tana French

Fire bursts inside me. My lips part under his. Coming up on my toes, I fist my hands in his hair and kiss him back, sharing the flames that lick at my soul. I breathe as he breathes, liquid heat in my veins.
He kisses me like I am water and he is parched. He is gentle and rough, taking and giving. In that moment, his kiss is all I know, all I ever want to know.
I come up higher on my toes and my lips cling to his as he pulls away. I'm left shaken and out of my element. I've never been kissed like that. I never imagined such a kiss existed. — Eve Silver

Do you need hope? Look at the tiny baby in a cow trough. See the adult's gentle hands blessing the children. Hear his words of invitation and see those hands pierced with spikes. Contemplate the blood-soaked mud. View the empty tomb and the folded grave clothes. See him rise physically to return to his Father, clothed in human flesh. Anticipate his return on the clouds and your eternal union and reign with him. Don't turn away from the hope of the gospel: Christ is utterly and eternally preeminent. You need this hope to face your day; don't look away to yourself or any other person. — Elyse M. Fitzpatrick

You're elegance in a misunderstood form. Crystal quartz in a world of platinum. Oh, my dizzy boy, there's a fire in you that I use to warm my hands on chilly mornings. — Taylor Rhodes

Kieran's hands came up to cup Mark's face. His touch was gentle. "I am not doing it for you," he said. "This will be what I do for Emma and the others. Then that debt will be paid. You and I, our debts are paid already." He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Mark's. Mark wanted to chase the kiss, the warmth of it, the familiarity. He felt Kieran's hand come down to splay itself over his chest-over the elf-bolt that hung there, below his collarbone. "We will be done with each other".

"No," Mark whispered. — Cassandra Clare

He took my hands. His callused fingers, strong and sturdy, were gentle as he lifted my bleeding hand to his mouth and kissed my palm. As if that were answer enough. His — Sarah J. Maas

I crave a shawl."
He was tense with anger but his hands remained gentle at her waist. He said, "I can make you a shawl."
She cocked her head. "You knit? Well. That's an unusual accomplishment in a soldier. — Laini Taylor

Don't give me some stupid lecture about war when the person we're talking about losing is you!" I said, surprised by the savagery in my tone. At least my voice didn't shake.
His face blurred and I tasted salt on my lips. It was warm, warm like Pritkin's hands coming up and framing my face, his thumbs brushing over my eyelids, soft as his fingers in my hair. "One person is not so important in the scheme of things", he said, and his voice was gentle, gentle when it never was, and that almost broke me.
But you are important, I thought. And yet he couldn't see that. In Pritkin's mind, he was an experiment gone wrong, a child cast out, a man valued by his peers only for his ability to kill the things they feared. Just once, I wished he could see what I did.
"Then neither is this", I said, leaning in and pressing my mouth to his, the kiss lightened by desperation and weighted down by everything he meant to me. — Karen Chance

His hands as he worked were deft and sure, but so gentle
he was being careful not to hurt me any more than he had to. I sat very still, hardly daring to move.
I was in love with him.
The knowledge swept through me, truer than anything I'd ever known. Oh, my God, I was in love with him. — L.A. Weatherly

Tears glinted in her eyes. "I want no secrets between us, Silas."
"No secrets," he echoed, his mouth near the gentle curve of her ear. "Then you should know I can hardly breathe for thinking of you. You're the most maddening lass I've ever known, and every day without you near is an agony to me." Taking her face between his hands, he moved to kiss her, but the sound of approaching horses gave him pause. — Laura Frantz

A dark flask dangled from the bedpost like a ripe fruit. Someone he could not see was seated beside his bed. He turned his head and craned his neck to no avail. At last he extended a hand toward the visitor; and the visitor took it between his own, which were large and hard and warm. As soon as their hands touched, he knew. You said you weren't going to help, he told the visitor. You said I wasn't to expect help from you, yet here you are. The visitor did not reply, but his hands were clean and gentle and full of healing. — Gene Wolfe

For a man so strong, he was gentle. When his hands, his arms, his mouth were on her, he moved as if afraid she might shatter if held too tightly. Their nights together had been and remained a blaze of passion, for he was a wickedly patient lover who took delight in her responses to him. But more than that, in the quiet hours after he would hold her, both of them weary, content, sleepy. She would lie in his arms and feel no worry, or sadness, or anxiety. She only felt beautiful. And desired. And safe. — Jim Butcher

Juliette-Julietter, love, wake up-wake up"
...
Warner's hands cup my face. The warmth of his skin helps calm me somehow, and I finally feel my heart rate begin to slow. "Look at me." he says.
I force myself to meet his eyes, shaking as I catch my breath.
"It's okay," he whispers, still holding my cheeks. "It was just a bad dream. Try closing your mouth," he says, "and breathing through your nose." He nods. "There you go. Easy. You're okay." His voice is so soft, so melodic, so inexplicably tender.
...
"I won't let you go until you are ready," he tells me. "Don't worry take your time. — Tahereh Mafi

It was a gentle love, a tactile love. It was all hands and lips and hearts in tandem. There was motion in our bodies and emotion in our discourse. We were a symphony of melody and melancholy. When you find peace in another's presence, there is no mistaken. — Lang Leav

He turned his face my way, not having very far to lean in, and kissed me once, sweet and slow - a breeze off the ocean - almost like he was asking permission. He opened his eyes to look at me.
Permission granted, Lieutenant.
When we kissed again, it was totally different. He scooted closer, his warm hands on either side of my neck. The pressure of his fingers under my hair was solid and strong, yet always gentle. When his lips parted, I got dizzy, like he might positively absorb me. For a second I feared I might be swooning like those silly ladies in Jane Austen novels.
"That was rude of me to interrupt," he whispered, his lips on the corner of my mouth. "But I'm not about to make this decision easy for you."
How he managed to string together so many coherent words was beyond me; I couldn't even remember what day it was. His fingers combed through my hair, and I caught a flash of his green eyes as they flickered open. — Ophelia London

He cupped her face in his hands, crushing his lips into hers. Angry and raw after all these months, he couldn't hold himself back any longer. It wasn't gentle or sweet. It was powerful and full of need. A quiet moan escaped from her throat, inciting another rushing wave of desire through him. Her lips parted, inviting his tongue inside her mouth. — Stacey O'Neale

Philosophy alone can boast (and perhaps it is no more than the boast of philosophy), that her gentle hand is able to eradicate from the human mind the latent and deadly principle of fanaticism. — Edward Gibbon

In my time," he said, "they believed in witches. Are you a witch, Honor, that you make me say these things to you?"
Causing him to rip open wounds that had stayed safely scabbed over for so long that, most of the time, he managed to forget they existed.
Her hands, so very, very gentle, continued to hold his face as she tugged him down until their foreheads touched.
"I'm no witch, Dmitri. If I was, I'd know how to fix you. — Nalini Singh

Hurry not a woman's favor; neither forcer her hastily to surrender to thee. For she goeth into love as she goeth into the waters at the seashore; first a hand and then a lip goeth she in by littles. She diveth not, she leapeth not from the pier; but by gentle shocks and cries of protest she entereth slowly; yet when the waters of love encompass her, then she is supported. She swimmeth in her joy; she floateth on the tide of happiness. — Gelett Burgess

We can really be together," he says to me, undeterred by my silence. He pulls me close, too close. I'm frozen in five hundred layers of fear. Stunned in grief, in disbelief.
His hands reach for my face, his lips for mine. My brain is on fire, ready to explode from the impossibility of this moment. I feel like I'm watching it happen, detached from my own body, incapable of intervening. More than anything else, I'm shocked by his gentle hands, his earnest eyes.
"I want you to choose me," he says. "I want you to choose to be with me. I want you to want this. — Tahereh Mafi

These hands are unlike any other
strong
but gentle
caring
loving
and understanding — April Nichole