Hand Making A Heart Quotes & Sayings

Of the myriad impressive notables related to Dio's passing, perhaps foremost is the fact the man was 67 years old and was still making quality hard rock records, still touring with a new (old) version of Black Sabbath, still singing his absolute heart out about dragons and rainbows, making the infamous devil horns hand gesture he swiped from his Italian grandmother and which has since became the universal, undeniable, completely badass symbol for true metal across all galaxies everywhere, and for which Dio deserves to be ensconced in the heavens forevermore. — Mark Morford

Never saw a point in showing up for jury duty. I already know I'm going to vote guilty." Ari's mouth made a tiny O, and she put her hand to her heart. "What about justice?"
"It is justice. Whoever they are, they're guilty of making me show up for jury duty. — J.C. Nelson

I pretended for a moment_ and only for a moment_ that I was the person she was making room for. That the hand she held up reached for me. That the heart thumping in her chest beat for me and me alone. I allowed myself that split second of weakness. — Brodi Ashton

I thought that there was only one kind of love, one that developed instantaneously and struck you like a bolt of lightning, made you irrational and selfish like it did my parents. I realized too late that love took different forms and the one we had - " He cupped her face. "It was there, the first day we met, growing "gradually from friendship into what's inside my heart now."
He brought her hand to his chest. "It's there, steady, constant, making my heart beat for you, making my heart race when you're near, making my heart sing like a goddamn canary when you're happy. I never thought this kind of love existed until I had lost you. — Marian Tee

And the music he was making wasn't frightening. It was achingly lovely. It was piercing, yet sweet. Powerful, yet simple. ( ... )
But I didn't move. And I didn't speak. I just listened. For how long, I don't know. And as I continued to listen, my heart began to ache with a feeling I had no name for. My heart felt swollen in my chest. I lifted my hand to my chest as if I could make it stop.
But with each note Wilson played, the feeling grew. It wasn't grief and it wasn't pain. It wasn't despair or even remorse. It felt more like ... gratitude. It felt like love. — Amy Harmon

I pushed passed him. He grabbed my hand and swung me back towards him. Then he pushed me against the wall and ... he kissed me.
He ran his thumb along my jawline and down my throat, hips pinning me to the wall. He kissed me slowly and with intensity, and once I got over the mind-numbing shock and comprehended what was actually happening, it was incredible. I had never been kissed like that before. We melted together. Every movement of mine was somehow perfectly mirrored by his. My heart was pounding so hard I knew he must be able to feel it and I was sure my legs were giving way, but he held me up, pushed me harder against the wall.
I grabbed a handful of his hair, remembering all the times I'd dreamed of doing it. I let my hand drift down his back and pulled him even closer to me. It all happened so quickly. I heard him make a low kind of growl and lean into me. His hand slid down my leg behind my knee, drawing it to him. I moaned and felt him tense. — Jessica Shirvington

Here is a fundamental difference between the man of faith and the man of unbelief. The unbeliever is 'of the world', judges everything by worldly standards, views life from the standpoint of time and sense, and weighs everything in the balances of his own carnal making. But the man of faith brings in God, looks at everything from His standpoint, estimates values by spiritual standards, and views life in the light of eternity. Doing this, he receives whatever comes as from the hand of God. Doing this, his heart is calm in the midst of the storm. Doing this, he rejoices in hope of the glory of God. — Arthur W. Pink

I also enjoy canoeing, and I suppose you will smile when I say that I especially like it on moonlight nights. I cannot, it is true, see the moon climb up the sky behind the pines and steal softly across the heavens, making a shining path for us to follow; but I know she is there, and as I lie back among the pillows and put my hand in the water, I fancy that I feel the shimmer of her garments as she passes. Sometimes a daring little fish slips between my fingers, and often a pond-lily presses shyly against my hand. Frequently, as we emerge from the shelter of a cove or inlet, I am suddenly conscious of the spaciousness of the air about me. A luminous warmth seems to enfold me. Whether it comes from the trees which have been heated by the sun, or from the water, I can never discover. I have had the same strange sensation even in the heart of the city. I have felt it on cold, stormy days and at night. It is like the kiss of warm lips on my face. — Helen Keller

All I cared about then was catching a glimpse of Chairman Mao. I turned my eyes quickly away from Liu to the front of the motorcade. I spotted Mao's stalwart back, his right arm steadily waving. In an instant, he had disappeared. My heart sank. Was that all I would see of Chairman Mao? Only a fleeting glimpse of his back? The sun seemed suddenly to have turned gray. All around me the Red Guards were making a huge din. The girl standing next to me had just pierced the index finger of her right hand and was squeezing blood out of it to write something on a neatly folded handkerchief. I knew exactly the words she was going to use. It had been done many times by other Red Guards and had been publicized ad nauseam: "I am the happiest person in the world today. I have seen our Great Leader Chairman Mao!" Watching her, my despair grew. Life seemed pointless. A thought flickered into my mind: perhaps I should commit suicide? — Jung Chang

Jane, last night was" - he raked a hand through his hair - "nice."
Her expression could only be described as crestfallen.
"No,"he hurried to say. "Don't look like that! I didn't mean 'nice.' In fact, it wasn't nice at all."
Her brows lowered. "No?"
"No.I mean, yes! Yes, it was nice, but it was also very, very - " He tried with all of his might to grasp a word that would encompass that heart - pounding exertion that even now was making his balls hum,but to his horror, he heard himself say once again," - nice. But really, really, really nice. — Karen Hawkins

He was a dreamer in such wise, because he was a man who had, deep-rooted in his nature, a belief in all the gentle and good things his life had been without. Bred in meanness and hard dealing, this had rescued him to be a man of honourable mind and open hand. Bred in coldness and severity, this had rescued him to have a warm and sympathetic heart. Bred in a creed too darkly audacious to pursue, through its process of reserving the making of man in the image of his Creator to the making of his Creator in the image of an erring man, this had rescued him to judge not, and in humility to be merciful, and have hope and charity. — Charles Dickens

Every productive person you will ever come across believes in routine. Hand on my heart, I haven't yet met one who has found 'flying by the seat of their pants' to be an effective way to go about things. That's because having a routine reduces cognitive load. The more stuff you can do on autopilot, the more room you have for ideas and making stuff happen. Having — Kelly Exeter

I could feel the heat from all the colored lights pressing down on me like a hand, and the music seemed to echo somewhere behind my ribs, making my heart flutter and skip in time. — Lauren Oliver

Casually, out of the view of Ronan, making sure Adam was still sleeping, Gansey dangled his hand between the driver's seat and the door. Palm up, fingers stretched back to Blue.
This was not allowed.
He knew it was not allowed, by rules he himself had set ... She would not see the gesture, anyway. She would ignore it if she did. His heart hummed.
Blue touched his fingertips.
Just this
He pinched her fingers lightly, just for a moment, and then he withdrew his hand and put it back on the wheel. His chest felt warm.
This was not allowed.
Ronan had not seen; Adam was still sleeping. The only casualty was his pulse.
-Page 36 <3 — Maggie Stiefvater

soon as he finished up here, he intended to ride out and pick a big bundle of those purple flowers, tie their stems together with a length of yellow ribbon he'd purchased a month ago because the color had reminded him of Sadie's shining hair, and he'd hand 'em right over in front of everybody tonight when she finished her final song. His heart set up a double beat just thinking about how she'd blush pink and give him her special smile. Then, while she was smiling and feeling appreciative, he'd take her aside and set her straight on how he felt about her and how much her paying attention to the sheriff hurt him. He and Sadie had a relationship years in the making. She'd only known the sheriff a few weeks. She'd pick him over McKane. He just knew it. — Kim Vogel Sawyer

The bonds between people had to be a narcotic. You unwittingly became dependent all the while your heart deteriorates inside out. And then you ended up needing to rely on others and you eventually become unable to do things by yourself.
Then, was it possible that by intending to lend a hand to people that I was actually making them suffer instead? Was I giving birth to people who couldn't stand on their own two feet unless they had help from someone?
Even though we were supposed to teach them how to catch fish and not give them one.
Something that could be easily given to someone was surely a fake. Something that could easily be given away was surely something that could easily be taken away by someone. — Wataru Watari

The King walks. He nods. His glance is like God's touch - under it all things spring to life. A wave of his hand and a hundred musicians tear into the Handel, making a sound you've never heard before, and never will again. A sound that goes through you, through flesh and bone, and reorders the very beat of your heart. — Jennifer Donnelly

Q: Why don't boys talk?
A: Boys do talk! You watch a group of them from a distance you will see that their lips are moving. They are probably making hand gestures as well. But what are they talking about?
I do my hare of talking with my guy friends, but I have no idea what we talk bout. guys have absolutely no short-term memory for conversations. This is why a girl can have a long, heart-to-heart talk with her sweetie, and the next day she makes some reference to what they talked about, and he looks at her with utter incomprehension and says, "Huh?"
The reason for this forgetfulness is that guys almost never anything in conversation that is worth remembering. — Pete Hautman

Be a giver. Share whatsoever you can. And remember, I am not making any distinction between. small things and great things. If you can smile whole-heartedly, hold somebody's hand and smile, then it is a creative act, a great creative act. Just embrace somebody to your heart and you are creative. Just look with loving eyes at somebody; just a loving look can change the whole world of a person. — Rajneesh

You have something else of mine, Miss Wakefield," he amended. "I believe you meant to borrow it and return it directly, but you never did return . . . my heart. It's been in your possession since our first meeting."

She drew in a staggered breath, daring to hope.
"Though without a heart, one might wonder how I came to be here, standing before you right now," he went on, making her heard spin again. "Do you wonder, Miss Wakefield?"

When she nodded, he grinned and placed her hand over his chest.
"There is a heart in here, but it is not mine. You see, I believe you made a dire mistake our first meeting. When you meant to return mine, instead you gave me yours. Doesn't it beat strangely beneath my breast? — Vivienne Lorret

That's how I do this life sometimes by making the ordinary just like magic and just like a card trick and just like a mirror and just like disappearing. Every Indian learns how to be a magician and learns how to misdirect attention and the dark hand is always quicker than the white eye and no matter how close you get to my heart you will never find out my secrets and I'll never tell you and I'll never show you the same trick twice.
I'm traveling heavy with illusions. — Sherman Alexie

Well, maybe we should stand watch. Just in case."
The corner of his mouth quirked up as he took another bite of his dinner. "Okay, who gets the first watch?"
"I do."
His eyes twinkled with mirth. "Ah, a brave volunteer?"
I glared at him and took another bite. "Are you making fun of me?"
He threw a hand over his heart, "No, ma'am! I already know you're brave. You have nothing to prove to me. — Colleen Houck

She held him at arms' length, looked at the pipe still gripped inn his hand, then looked at his face and read him like a book. She ran the tip of her red tongue slowly across her full cushiony, sensuous lips, making them wet-red and looked him straight in the eyes with her own glassy, speckled bedroom eyes.

The man drowned.

When he came up, he stared back, passion cocked, his whole black being on a live-wire edge. Ready! Solid ready to cut throats, crack skulls, dodge police, steal hearses, drink muddy water, live in a hollow log, and take any rape-fiend chance to be once more in the arms of his high-yellow heart. — Chester Himes

Oh, baby." He kissed me softly. "Thank you, for bringing me back to life. For making this beat." He put a hand to his heart. "It beats for you, and them. — Adriane Leigh

It had been off-hand and flattering, in exactly the proper proportions, and Louise had cleverly erected a thin shield of something that was less than and better than love to protect him from the comic, unending abuse of the Army. And, now, it was probably over. Women, Michael thought resentfully, can never learn the art of being transients. They are all permanent settlers at heart, making homes with dull, instinctive persistence in floods and wars, on the edges of invasions, at the moment of the crumbling of states. No, he thought, I will not have it. For my own protection I am going to get through this time alone ... — Irwin Shaw

He took my hand in his. I gasped when our skin touched and looked into his eyes in a kind of shocked wonder, my eyes wide. His hand was smooth and warm, a few degrees warmer than it should be, and that heat sank into me, but it was not his heat that made me gasp. It felt like a storm resided within his skin and the moment our hands met, the storm and heat went raging through my veins, leaving my skin tingling and my heart fluttering while also making my blush deeper. It was like heat lightning, flashes of brilliance without sound that told of an impending storm. It awakened something within me, something I did not know existed, and took my breath away. I had never felt anything like it before. — Jasmine Dubroff

She closed her eyes, soaking in the feel of his hand, then opened them and stared at his perfect face as longing wrapped itself around her heart. "If this is a mistake, it's one I'll gladly keep making."
"I don't think it's a mistake, I just want to do things the right way."
"Not everything's always black and white. And you don't always have to put what you want on hold for everyone else. — Cindi Madsen

She'd always loved beautiful underwear - lacey bras and knickers, usually white or the deepest burgundy. What colour was she wearing today?
His heart slammed faster at the thought and, unable to stop himself, he shifted his arm, bunching up her shirt to reveal that which his hand so desperately wanted to possess.
"Oh, babe," he groaned, his stare falling on a cherry-red bra perfectly cupping her breast. Her nipple strained at the delicate lace, drawing his attention and making his breath quicken. "You are as beautiful as I remember. — Lexxie Couper

I leaned forward, but Todd lifted a hand to stop me. "There's one more thing I've been meaning to tell you all day."
"What is it?" I asked impatiently, not able to keep from staring at his mouth.
He took his time, drawing in a slow inhale and then letting it out just as slowly. "You," he finally whispered, running a finger across my chin, "absolutely take my breath away."
It was right then that I knew, down to my curling toes and thumping heart, that I had made the correct decision, maybe the most correct decision ever to be made in the history of decision-making. I reached for him, torn between wanting to stare into his incredible green eyes and an almost painful desire to kiss him.
Naturally, we kissed. And kissed. — Ophelia London

You may not realize this, brother, but Izzy is loyal to me. So don't make me unleash her on you."
"And now you're making fun of me," Izzy complained.
"No. It's a serious threat," Celyn admitted. "Used by many in the family. Especially Briec. He loves threatening those who annoy him - "
"Which is everyone," Brannie stated while grabbing the last loaf of bread and tearing it into three pieces.
" - with his beautiful eldest daughter who will rip the scales from your back and tear the still-beating heart from your chest before spitting on your corpse."
Izzy put her hand to her chest, her voice trembling as she fought tears. "That is the sweetest thing I've ever heard. — G.A. Aiken

You wish to hear the origin story?" "Uh, yes." I passed him the bottle. "Very well." He drank, handing it to Jack, starting another round. "A goddess of magic devised a contest to the death for select mortals. She invited deities of other realms to send a representative from their most prestigious house, all youths. Each one bore their god's emblem upon his or her right hand." My heart raced . . . I had been one of those youths. "These players would fight inside Tar Ro, a sacred realm as large as a thousand kingdoms, harvesting their victims' emblems; only the player who'd collected them all would leave Tar Ro alive. Naturally, the gods cheated, gifting their own representative with superhuman abilities, making them more than mortal. Secret abilities. That's why we're called Arcana." "Hail Tar Ro," I murmured. "The High Priestess told me that." "An old-fashioned greeting. She's quite knowledgeable about the games. Very respectful of the old ways. — Kresley Cole

A little lifting up of the heart suffices; a little remembrance of God, an interior act of adoration, even though made on the march and with sword in hand, are prayers which, short though they may be, are nevertheless very pleasing to God, and far from making a soldier lose his courage on the most dangerous occasions, bolster it. Let him then think of God as much as possible so that he will gradually become accustomed to this little but holy exercise; no one will notice it and nothing is easier than to repeat often during the day these little acts of interior adoration. — Brother Lawrence

What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes! Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red." "My hands are of your colour; but I shame to wear a heart so white. A little water clears us of this deed: How easy it is then! Your constancy hath left you unattended. — William Shakespeare

Again, I whisper.
The corner of his mouth lifts, and then I kiss him. Not so gently this time. His hands drop from my face and grab my waist and pull me to him. A small soft groan excapes him, and that noise makes me feel absolutely crazy. I lose it. I wind my hands around his neck and kiss him without holding anything back. I can feel his heart thundering like mine, his breath coming faster, his arms tightening around me.
And then I can feel what he feels. He's waited for this moment. He loves how I feel in his arms. He loves the smell of my hair. He loves the way I looked at him just now, flushed and wanting more from him. He loves the color of my lips and now the taste of my mouth is making his knees feel weak and he doesn't want to seem weak in front of me. So i draw back, and his breath comes out in a rush. His arms drop away from me. — Cynthia Hand

The arrow is the intention. It is what unites the strength of the bow with the centre of the target. The intention must be crystal-clear, straight and balanced. Once the arrow has gone, it will not come back, so it is better to interrupt a shot, because the movements that led up to it were not sufficiently precise and correct, than to act carelessly, simply because the bow was fully drawn and the target was waiting. But never hold back from firing the arrow if all that paralyses you is fear of making a mistake. If you have made the right movements, open your hand and release the string. Even if the arrow fails to hit the target, you will learn how to improve your aim next time. If you never take a risk, you will never know what changes you need to make. Each arrow leaves a memory in your heart, and it is the sum of those memories that will make you shoot better and better. — Paulo Coelho

Her tiny hand gripped mine with a surprising warmth, and in a shocking wash of emotion, I felt everything I knew shift. The scent of cinnamon and baby powder hit me, and as my eyes widened, my heart melted, making room for her. — Kim Harrison