Gripping Hands Quotes & Sayings

It was impossible to breathe at this point. This man, this brilliant talented, gorgeous man had just poured out his heart tome, and I was going to die before I could respond because I'd stopped breathing. He continued "At some point, we'll fight. In the future, things might get difficult. I'm never going to be an easy person to get along with. But Vera, on the other hand, we can fight for each other. Life will likely get difficult whether we're together or not, so why not tackle it together? And I might be an asshole, but I'm an asshole that cares a very great deal for you. In fact, I might even love you."

Basically it was impossible to breathe now. I had probably turned purple. "You what?"

His hands moved up my forearms, gripping for support. Whether it was for him or me, I didn't know.

"I love you, Vera. I do. I love you. — Rachel Higginson

Nobody worked harder than Mozart. By the time he was twenty-eight years old, his hands were deformed because of all the hours he had spent practicing, performing, and gripping a quill pen to compose. That's the missing element in the popular portrait of Mozart. — Twyla Tharp

The clockwork men and women fated to maneuver the oars twenty-four hours per day until the ship reached its destination had turned their silent voices to song as they bent their backs to row. They sang not in any human language but in the secret language of the mechanicals. A shanty sung in the click-tick-click of clockwork bodies, the crash of tapped feet, the clatter of metal hands gripping banded wooden spars. — Ian Tregillis

Placing both my hands on his strong jaw, it's my turn to rest my head on his, and in an effort to right my wrong, I say, "You know every time you move your nose to my ear like that, it drives me crazy."
Pulling back, softly gripping my arms with his hands, he nods and a slight grin appears, a smirk really, and he says, "Yeah, I know that. — Kim Karr

Free, I think. They're free.
(is this why she joined them?)
I feel so-
So relieved.
I pick up the pace as I near the opening, my hands gripping my rifle but I have a feeling I ain't gonna need it.
(ah, Viola, I knew I could count-)
Then I reach the opening and stop.
Everything stops.
My stomach falls right thru my feet.
"They're all gone?" Davy says, coming up beside me.
Then he see what I see.
"What the-?" Davy says.
The Spackle ain't all gone.
They're still here.
Every single one.
All 1150 of them.
Dead. — Patrick Ness

His hands squeezed my neck, gripping firm but not hard. His face got closer. Please, Faye, whatever this is, when I get home from it, I want to slide into my bed with you bein' in it. — Kristen Ashley

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

You," he says to me, his hands gripping me tighter now, "are one of the bravest, strongest people I've ever met. You have the best heart, the best intentions - " He stops. Takes a tight, shaky breath. "You're the best person I've ever known," he says to me. "You've been through the worst possible experiences and you survived with your humanity still intact. How the hell," he says, his voice breaking now, "am I supposed to let go of you? How can I walk away from you? — Tahereh Mafi

The man whirled, his hands still gripping the animal's skin, his face perfectly illuminated by the fire. He was half in shadow, and the shadow revealed him slowly. His left eye was covered by a black leather patch, and thin white scar raked his brow and the cheekbone below. The carried on, down the length of his neck, into the thick black beard, twisting under his collarbone and around his torso. They marred only the skin, I noted, for the muscles beneath were whole and strong, and the entire impression was one of great vitality and energy, strength unbridled. He looked nothing so much as a fallen god working at a trade.
"Hephaestus at the forge," I murmured, recalling my mythology ... — Deanna Raybourn

Her hands closed over his cock, gripping tightly as he pressed her up against the copy machine. — Sibylla Matilde

I was barely breathing now, my head felt light. I stumbled to the nearest bench and I clasped my hands together, my fingers gripping each other painfully in an attempt to feel useful. Their job had been to hold fast and it had been so long since they had been empty. They had done their job well, they had clung to those memories even in the dead of night when I was fast asleep, remaining vigilant, keepers of my heart's most inner desires. My icy hands with their narrow fingers had done my heart's work for so long that they felt bereft now. Good sense was still with me and it reminded me that it was time, way past time. It spoke of better days and of substance, of actuality. It asked for the hardest thing, trust. — Tamara Thiel

Howard's enchanting Hospice obeys its own magical inner logic with excellent prose and a sadness that will split open hearts. You have in your hands a story that is inquisitive, gripping, and triumphant. — Deb Olin Unferth

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

I am Death Walker, Grief Bringer, Daughter of Carnage. I have walked through fields of blood, nimbly stepping over corpses the way a dancer steps onto a stage. I am the Queen of War, knee deep in fallen life, up to elbows in warm failing flesh. The slip of intestine against my fingers, the feel of once strong hands gripping at me, begging me to save them. — Gea Haff

Don't react," Lucien said, forcing his gaze ahead, too, the metal eye going still and silent. "No matter what you feel or see, don't react. Don't look. Just stare ahead." I started trembling, gripping the reins in my sweaty hands. I might have wondered if this was some kind of horrible joke, but Lucien's face had gone so very, very pale. Our horses' ears flattened against their heads, but they continued walking, as if they'd also understood Lucien's command. And then I felt it. — Sarah J. Maas

I run as fast as I can.

I make my way to the Employee Only exit and burst through, entering the main mall, gripping the backpack straps with both hands.

I don't see anyone else.

Some light from the sun is still shining through the skylights, making long shadows out of everything - the signs, the benches, the railing above me.

I run down the middle of the first-floor walkway, searching desperately for a way up to the second level. — Jonathan R. Miller

Zoe gave him a look that was difficult to interpret. Eventually she asked, "What makes you sure I couldn't handle you?"
She didn't know what she was asking for, from a man who couldn't remember what it was like to be innocent. Lightly gripping her hair, Alex forced her face close to his. The blond curls danced around his fingers and tickled the backs of his hands. " I 'm a bastard in bed, Zoe," he said quietly. " I 'm selfish and mean as the devil. I have to have all the control. And I 'm ... not nice — Lisa Kleypas

So you'd keep me here against my will-"
"Know this pirate," he said, his hands gripping the railing, "you are my passenger, and I will be damned before I let any harm come to you. — Alexandra Bracken

Betelgeuse. Sirius. Orion. Antares. The sky is very large, and you are very small. Let the words wash
through him, the voice and its memories pass over him, shivering his skin like the touch of a ghost,
vanishing into darkness.
The Pleiades. Cassiopeia. Taurus. Heaven is wide, and you are very small. Dead, but none the less
powerful for being dead. He spread his hands wide, gripping the fence - those were powerful, too.
Enough to beat a man to death, enough to choke out a life. But even death was not enough to loose the
bands of rage.
With great effort, he let go. Turned his hands palm upward, in gesture of surrender. He reached
beyond the stars, searching. The words formed themselves quietly in his mind, by habit, so quietly he
was not aware of them until he found them echoed in a whisper on his lips. — Diana Gabaldon

I walk by, seeing myself walk by on a bag, someone's hands gripping the paper handles above my neck, my curved waist, my gleam of sweat, me, half a block away, and think, you don't know self-fragmentation until it's staring you in the face. — Chris Campanioni

I staggered backward-her one hand gripping my shoulder, the other still holding my wrists behind her-and she followed until my back hit the wall. — Kim Harrison

My hands were gripping his arms, pulling myself tighter to him, my mouth glued to his and answering every unspoken question his asked. — Stephenie Meyer

When the ship suddenly pitched more steeply, the bookworm lost his grip. He came skipping over the toilet seats - his ass made a slapping sound - until he collided with my father at the opposite end of the row of toilets. "Sorry - I just had to keep reading!" he said. Then the ship rolled in the other direction, and the soldier sallied forth, skipping over the seats again. When he'd slid all the way to the last toilet, he either lost control of the book or he let it go, gripping the toilet seat with both hands. The book floated away in the seawater. "What were you reading?" the code-boy called. "Madame Bovary!" the soldier shouted in the storm. "I can tell you what happens," the sergeant said. "Please don't!" the bookworm answered. "I want to read it for myself! — John Irving

His hands reached for me, gripping my hipbones and pulling me forward. he stared down at me, his voice low. There are some things I will make time for, Jacqueline. — Tammara Webber

Is this how you want me to kiss you?" Yet again he pressed his lips against hers, no tongues, no teeth, just the sweet, simple pleasure of being close to her. Her hands had moved to his thighs by then, and he didn't know if she realized how tightly she was gripping him, her fingers loosening every time he kissed her, then tightening when he drew back. "I really like it," she whispered against his lips a beat before she surprised him by saying, "but I want you to kiss me like this. — Anonymous

The flames of the fire leapt up and surrounded her, consuming her, becoming her. Heat filled and flushed her, breaking the bottle and she soared up and up. She came to stand in a sun's center. But that even faded and she rode pillion with Emmerich as he crossed the field on his black battle charger, her hands gripping his sides. The edges of his chain-mail bit into her skin and she could hear his labored breath. She could smell his particular scent: horse and leather, sweat and musk. Men roared like the ocean and rushed like waves to slam against the opposing force meeting them outside the walls. — Suzanna J. Linton

I'm a whore!"
Miki hit the brakes ... her hands.. gripping the steering wheel, glanced at Sara. "You're not wearing any underwear, are you?"
Sara let out a strangled squeal ... — Shelly Laurenston

He was strong and warm and male and his mouth moved gently against hers, his kiss provocative and soothing at the same time. Her hands found his shoulders, her fingers gripping muscle and bone. She felt the brush of his tongue against her lips, then he was inside her, hot and wet and demanding, and a part of herself she'd pushed down deep inside came roaring to life. — Sarah Mayberry

Noble starets, tell me, are my high spirits offensive to you or not? Fyodor Pavlovich suddenly exclaimed, gripping the arms of his chair with both hands and appearing ready to leap out of it, depending on the reply. — Fyodor Dostoyevsky

I guess it's over now," I said bravely. "Right?"

"Is that what you want?"

My throat clenched. I shook my head.

"What do you want, Haven?"

"I want you," I burst out, and the tears spilled over again. "But I can't have you."

Hardy moved closer, gripping my head in his hands, forcing me to look at him. "Haven, sweetheart . . . you've already got me. — Lisa Kleypas

Finally I was naked on the table, my legs spread with big hands gripping tight at the sides of my knees, and he was down. As in down. On his knees on the floor, his mouth between my legs. Feeding. God. Oh God. Not feeding. Feeding. — Kristen Ashley

Gripping her hips in his hands, he thrust into her, and her eyes closed, her head tilting to the side as he pumped in and out of her, wondering how a quickie in the back of a limo could be the hottest sex he'd had in a long time. It's her. It's always been her. — Codi Gary

. "Well precious, let this be a lesson." He snapped my hands above my head, gripping them both with only one of his. He slid his fingers down my cheek, pausing to run his thumb over my bottom lip. "You shouldn't come out to play until you have the power to party like a big girl." ~ Reese Patcher — Trisha Wolfe

The Dead and Those About to Die is a gripping, first-hand account of the desperate battle for Omaha Beach on D-Day by the legendary 1st Infantry Division, the Big Red One. On the 70th anniversary of that momentous event, John C. McManus's tale of courage under fire is a vivid reminder that freedom isn't free and that when the chips are down stalwart American soldiers will always answer the call of duty. — Carlo D'Este

When he came down, he was slower, and clutching something his hand. He leapt down the last 5 feet or so and came over to me, uncurling his fingers. In his palm was something trembling and silky and the bright, delicious pale gold of apples; in the gloom of the jungle it looked like light itself. Uva nudged the thing with a finger and it turned over, and I could see it was a monkey of some sort, though no monkey I had ever seen before; it was only a few inches larger than one of the mice I had once been tasked with killing, and his face was a wrinkled black heart, its features pinched together but its eyes large and as blankly blue as a blind kitten's. It had tiny, perfectly formed hands, one of which was gripping its tail, which it had wrapped around itself and which was flamboyantly furred, its hair hanging like a fringe. — Hanya Yanagihara

That's it," Flanagan said, his thick hands gripping the bar and his eyes wide. "I'm getting back on the wagon and I'm never getting off again. Oh, Jesus, look at that."
"I'm looking," Jesus said. Flanagan flicked an annoyed glance at him — Kevin Hearne

I remember watching you from the back seat with those same big hands gripping the steering wheel, and all I could think was someday I want those massive arms to hold me. I knew nothing bad could happen to me wrapped in those unbelievable arms. — Tess Oliver

She felt the blazing heat of his mouth cover her, his tongue searching the tender flesh, arrowing to the sensitive bud where her desire centered. Her knees weakened, and she would have collapsed had his hands not cupped beneath her buttocks, gripping and steadying her. Moaning, she strained against the sliding, tormenting delight of his tongue, until she began to stiffen at the imminent approach of climax. — Lisa Kleypas