Hand Worked Quotes & Sayings

But the truth is, if you'd followed your vision, if you'd just trusted the plan, everything would have worked out fine. — Cynthia Hand

And another thing about German symphonic development. I tell you, our cold kvass soup is a horror to the Germans, and yet we eat it with pleasure. And their cold cherry soup is a horror to us, and yet it sends a German into ecstacy. In short, symphonic development is just like German philosophy and soup-all worked out and systematized. When a German thinks, he reasons his way to a conclusion. Our Russian brother, on the other hand, starts with a conclusion and then might amuse himself with some reasoning. — Modest Petrovich Mussorgsky

If I keep looking at her long legs I'm gonna have an accident. "How's that sister of yours?" I ask, changing the subject.
"She's waiting to beat you again at checkers."
"Is that right? Well, tell her I was goin' easy on her. I was tryin' to impress you."
"By losing?"
I shrug. "It worked, didn't it?"
I notice her fidgeting with her dress as if she needs to fix it to impress me. Wanting to ease her anxiety, I slide my fingers down her arm before capturing her hand in mine.
"You tell Shelley I'll be back for a rematch," I say.
She turns to me, her blue eyes sparkling. "Really?"
"Absolutely."
During the drive, I try and make small talk. It doesn't work. I'm not a small talk kind of guy. It's a good thing Brittany seems content without talking. — Simone Elkeles

We all looked at Shelton, who rolled his eyes. "Like my vote matters now."
Hi patted his back. "If it makes you feel better, your vote's never mattered."
"Hilarious." Shelton rubbed his face. "I hope my parole officer finds you as funny."
I sprang up and hurried for the exit, stopping Chance with a hand on his shoulder. "Give me a second alone with Ben. He's still worked up, probably needs a few minutes to decompress."
Chance's expression soured, but he held back.
Hi fired a shooter my way. "Good idea. We need him mission focused. Rodger dodger."
Shelton covered his face with his hands. "Enough already. — Kathy Reichs

A haggard man used one of the huts as a home. He lay on a sagging mattress, his head on his pack, surrounded by rubbish - paper, porcelain shards, food remains and unidentifiable debris. His hand was over his eyes. He looked like a failed soldier. Dirt seemed so worked into him that the lines of his face were like writing. — China Mieville

The problem is once you've written the opening paragraph and worked out how the rest of the story will go in your head, there's nothing in it for you. I write in longhand using disposable fountain pens on the right-hand side of the notebook for the first draft, then I rewrite some of the sentences and paragraphs on the left-hand side. — Colm Toibin

What? You're just going to stand there and watch me?" she snapped at him.
"You're not very nice," he stated, taking a lesson from his brother.
"I'm not nice? You're the one who busted into a bank and blew a man's hand to kingdom come!" she said. "You shot me, you kidnapped me, you cut off my hair. I've got a bruise in the shape of your handprint on my upper arm. But I'm not a nice person?" she fumed. "Tell me, which of the items on that list would inspire me to be nice to you?" Stacy had worked herself into such a rage that she couldn't stop. "I swear, I'd love to beat the crap out of you! — Debra Trueman

I'm fine. Will put his hand on Amanda's foot again. He could feel a steady pulse near her ankle. He'd worked for this woman most of his career but still knew very little about her. She lived in a condo in the heart of Buckhead. She had been on the job longer than he had been alive, which put her age in the mid-sixties. She kept her salt-and-pepper hair coiffed in the shape of a football helmet and wore pantyhose with starched blue jeans. She had a sharp tongue, more degrees than a college professor, and she knew that his name was Wilbur even though he'd had it legally changed when he entered college and every piece of paper the GBI had on file listed his legal name as William Trent. — Karin Slaughter

Americans have always pursued our dreams within a free market that has been the engine of our progress. It's a market that has created a prosperity that is the envy of the world, and rewarded the innovators and risk-takers who have made America a beacon of science, and technology, and discovery. But the American economy has worked in large part because we have guided the market's invisible hand with a higher principle - that America prospers when all Americans can prosper. That is why we have put in place rules of the road to make competition fair, and open, and honest. — Barack Obama

I was gratified by the way our players had approached each game throughout the season. They had remained focused on the task at hand, playing hard and smart week after week. We didn't have any turmoil or distractions. We went about our business as usual. To do that in a setting that often was anything but usual is a testament to the character of our players and coaches. Our process worked; we simply picked a bad year to only be very good. — Tony Dungy

People's hands fascinate me. It's tempting to look at a businessman's left hand and see if there's an indentation from a missing wedding ring. Or maybe there's a tan line and the skin is pressed down where's he's worked a ring off his finger. — Benedict Cumberbatch

According to a 1995 study, a sample of Japanese eighth graders spent 44 percent of their class time inventing, thinking, and actively struggling with underlying concepts. The study's sample of American students, on the other hand, spent less than 1 percent of their time in that state. "The Japanese want their kids to struggle," said Jim Stigler, the UCLA professor who oversaw the study and who cowrote The Teaching Gap with James Hiebert. "Sometimes the [Japanese] teacher will purposely give the wrong answer so the kids can grapple with the theory. American teachers, though, worked like waiters. Whenever there was a struggle, they wanted to move past it, make sure the class kept gliding along. But you don't learn by gliding. — Daniel Coyle

With my heart thumping, I froze up. I didn't dance. I was born with two left feet and they only worked together in the saddle. "Come on," Casey urged and grabbed my hand. "I wore my steel-toe boots. You can stand on my feet for all I care. — Brittney Joy

I don't treat the band like I'm above them or that they're a hired hand for me. We've never worked that way. So I'm a team player. I would be very uncomfortable having to do this alone. — Tom Petty

I struggled not to laugh at the brand-new bottle of lube in his left hand and the unopened box of condoms in his right. He watched me, his expression dark.
"Just buy those?" I asked lightly.
He nodded once.
"Had it all worked out in your mind, did you?"
He nodded again.
"Have you ever fucked a man, Seven?"
He shook his head, his right hand squishing the box of condoms as he tightened his grip.
"And ... this is what you want?" I looked at his face then, watching for any signs of doubt. There were none as he nodded again.
I opened my arms. "Come here," I said softly. — T.J. Klune

I'm over a thousand years old. I've seen it all. You, sweetcheeks, are nothing new." At what must have been an outraged expression on her face, he laughed again. "Come on. Surely you can't think you are the only female out there who's had a rough life, had her heart walked on, been kept in a dungeon for three centuries, blah, blah, pick your trauma, and are now stomping around with all this pent-up anger you spill like acid on everyone who gets to know you." He narrowed his gaze at her. "How close am I?"
Sin's mouth worked, but nothing came out. She finally snapped it shut to avoid looking like a fish gasping on the bank of a river.
"That's what I thought." He made a shooing gesture with his hand. "No, run along and go be caustic with someone who cares. Oh, wait, no one cares, do they? Because you won't let them
— Larissa Ione

Outside the station of Santa Maria Novella Isabella has to stand aside while a line of prisoners are marched into the terminus by armed Fascist guards. They pass within touching distance of her, carrying bags and bundles. There are old people and some children too. They all seem swamped by their clothes, disembodied by them somehow. Then she catches the eye of Ezra, a young Jewish man who once worked in the arts material shop where she buys most of her pigments and brushes. He is almost at the back of the line. The veins are high and urgent on his hand. His trousers are held up with a dirty piece of string. His cobalt blue eyes hold hers for the barest beat of a moment but some essence of his being conveys itself to her and her blood quickens in sympathy for him. She has the feeling of looking into the eyes of a ghost. — Glenn Haybittle

It had worked in the past, being calm, acting as though everything were normal. She hoped it would work again. "Gavriel, we have to go. Stop being so scary."
At that, he looked over and smiled again, spinning Midnight in his arms as if they'd been dancing. Winter caught her and held her upright.
"I can wait a little longer," Gavriel said. "A very little longer."
"The car keys," Tana demanded, holding out a trembling hand. He fished in his pockets - an utterly normal gesture - then dropped them into her palm ceremoniously. She picked up the bag of cash and jewels from beside the hood of the car, shoving it into her purse.
"I won't always obey you," he said softly. "One night you will ask me for something I cannot give."
She'd started to relax, but his words sent a fresh spike of terror up her spine. — Holly Black

I picked economics at the end of my undergraduate time because it seemed to be a really nice combination of theory, including mathematical theory on one hand, and things that are quite practical that you can touch and see and feel. So I picked it, and I consciously thought of it as an experiment to see if I liked it. And it worked. — Michael Spence

But you can't fault me on my footnotes. I've worked hard on them and they look pretty impressive. And almost all the sources I quote actually exist. I must confess, however, that the idea of putting footnotes in chapter 5, the autobiographical chapter, started out simply as a joke. Who but a biblical scholar would think of footnoting an autobiography? But the joke quickly got out of hand and become a significant part of that chapter. I plan someday to write a scholarly article consisting of a single sentence and a twenty-page footnote. — Jeffrey L. Staley

On the one hand, young theatre directors were coming to television theatre, because they wanted to get closer to the cinema, despite having studied and worked for the theatre. — Andrzej Wajda

Charles, a footman who had once worked on his father's farm and who loved animals, appeared and came over to help her prepare dishes of boiled chicken and brown rice for the cats and dogs waiting eagerly at their feet.
When guests were staying, Charles often assisted with the care of her furry brood. Without asking, he set to work, even taking a few moments to gather fresh meat scraps for Aeolus, her wounded hawk, and cut-up apple and beetroots for Poppy, a convalescing rabbit who had an injured leg. He gave her several more apple quarters for the horses, who got jealous if she didn't bring them treats as well.
Once all her cats and dogs were fed, Esme set off for the stables, laden pail in hand, Burr trotting at her heels. She stopped along the way to chat with the gardener and his assistant, who gave her some timothy grass, comfrey and lavender to supplement the hay she regularly fed Poppy. — Tracy Anne Warren

Only problem with the whole scheme, really, is that Lauren's about to blow up the planet. See, that's the part you aren't in on. The thing in the Box? It's an angel. And it's really old and really pissed off." "You're bluffing," Nicky said. "Are we?" Caitlin shrugged. "We're keeping things under wraps to avoid a panic, but a full report's been delivered to the prince and his inner council. A council which, last time I checked, includes your father. Why don't you get in touch with him? Ask him who Belephaia is." He looked from her to me and back again, resting his hand on his desk phone. His brow furrowed as he worked out the implications. — Craig Schaefer

What are you all worked up about?" he asked warily.
"This," she spat, motioning to the small space where she sat and he lay, "is what I call taking advantage." Glaring, she looked all flustered and - Lord-don't-put-him-in-more-hot-water-than-he-already-was - sexy with her blond curls bouncing with each word she sputtered. "And you can kindly remove your hand now, too."
He glanced down and blinked. Then, with as much remorse as he could muster, he carefully slid his hand out from underneath her butt. — Jennifer Shirk

Tom is the most eccentric person I have ever worked with. We get on very well and I am most impressed with how he can hold an audience in the palm of his hand. — Louise Jameson

I have all these computers and keyboards and synthesizers, and I rattle away. For instance, with The Lion King I wrote over four hours worth of tunes, and they were really pretty -but totally meaningless. So in the end I came up with material I liked. We worked on The Lion King for four years, but I wasn't toying until the last three-and-a-half weeks properly. On Crimson Tide, on the other hand, I just went in and within seconds I knew what I wanted. — Hans Zimmer

It's like when I first saw you at the Diabetic. I went up to you, but really you made the first move."
"Shut up!" She remains unconvinced. "How?"
I don't answer. I sit still. Then I look at her slyly out of the corner of my eye, before looking away. I look at her again, for longer this time, then drop my eyes. For my final look I stare, and bat my eyelashes provocatively.
I must do a good job because Nia laughs. It feels goo to know I can do that.
"You look like such a dufus in those glasses! It's not sexy at all!" She puts her hand to her reddening face. "Oh. Did I really do that?"
"It worked, didn't it? — Leanne Hall

My first performance was in second grade with my friend Rodney Fisher, and we worked up versions of 'Long Tall Texan' and 'I Want to Hold Your Hand.' It gave me a little early confidence that I could actually do this music thing. — Lyle Lovett

For a long time, we've worked on detecting planets with whatever was at hand, making use of existing small telescopes or even amateur telescopes. It's time to move on to the next stage. — Andrew Gould

I moved to Chicago in 1992 to study improv and it was everything I wanted it to be. It was like a cult. People ate, slept, and definitely drank improv. They worked at crappy day jobs just to hand over their money for improv classes. Eager young people in khakis and polo shirts were willing to do whatever teachers like Del Close and Martin de Maat told them to. In retrospect, it may actually have been a cult. — Tina Fey

He doesn't like that you and I are together."
There was a hummingbird in my chest. The fluttering returned with a vengeance. "We are not together."
"Aren't we?"
My breath caught as his hand slid up, skating over my ribs, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
Jensen's deep, low chuckle travelled across my throat. "After this morning, we are most definitely together. We just haven't worked out the specifics of our together-ness."
"Together-ness is not a word."
"Now it is. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

If an American worker saw you driving a Cadillac, he worked to. earn enough to buy one for himself; the English worker, on the other hand, sought to deprive you of yours. — Elizabeth Powers

Anytime we worked a quilt, it was the thing to do to set out an empty chair. It was for the missing woman. The friend who might call, just as you'd sat to quilt, and who might bring a loaf of bread, lend a hand, do a square ...
There are times I miss the things I haven't done in my life. The things that Savannah is so good at doing, like taking up the empty chair. — Nancy E. Turner

The instant I saw Lori's dad and Frances across the hot asphalt road, I spun around, hoping Lori was still hidden by the trees.
She stood right behind me, in full view. And if my expression matched hers, we couldn't have looked more guilty.
I turned back around. Her dad's face was even worse. Glaring at me, he worked his jaw like he was going to say something, but he wanted to make sure he'd thought of
the worst possible insult first. He turned redder and seemed to swell, like all his holes were plugged up and the pressure had nowhere to escape.
He opened his mouth.
"It was my fault," I said quickly.
"I know!" he roared.
At the same time, Lori stepped in front of me and muttered, "Wrong thing to say, Adam."
"Right." I put my hand on Lori's shoulder and pushed her an arm's length away so it wouldn't look like I was hiding behind her. "It's nobody's fault, because we didn't
do anything wrong. — Jennifer Echols

I feel you, Syn. I feel you about to explode," Furi groaned against his ear. His hands traveled down to Syn's ass. He pulled him in tight against him, making Syn grind hard inside him. Furi worked his hips from the bottom and Syn had no doubt Furi's prostate was being stimulated. If the noises coming from him weren't evidence enough, the cock trapped between them that had turned to steel definitely was. "You're gonna make me fuckin' come, Syn," Furi rasped out. Furi's cock was trapped between them and the way Furi controlled Syn's hips had his abs rubbing roughly over its length. Syn's orgasm was rising. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes on his lover's beautiful face, especially when Furi took one hand off Syn's ass and made a show of sexily sucking on one finger. "Oh — A.E. Via

When you win, you don't examine it very much, except to congratulate yourself. You easily, and wrongly, assume it has something to do with your rare qualities as a person. But winning only measures how hard you've worked and how physically talented you are; it doesn't particularly define you beyond those characteristics.
Losing on the other hand, really does say something about who you are. Among other things it measures are: do you blame others, or do you own the loss? Do you analyze your failure, or just complain about bad luck?
If you're willing to examine failure, and to look not just at your outward physical performance, but your internal workings, too, losing can be valuable. How you behave in those moments can perhaps be more self-defining than winning could ever be. Sometimes losing shows you for who you really are. — Lance Armstrong

Syn couldn't finish a single thought as Furi worked that wonderful gadget inside of him like a professional sex toy representative showing him all the features of the little wonder. Furi stroked Syn's hard cock with one hand, concentrating on the blushing head every few strokes while working the toy in and out of him, increasing in intensity and speed. Syn was so overwhelmed by sensation he was babbling some language that even Rosetta Stone couldn't teach. His — A.E. Via

It worked! It fucking worked! We've got to help the Goldbrows, shithead. Get up! Get up!" He hauls me to my feet and shoves my razor back into my hand, rushing into the holopit, howling the hideous battle cry we made as children among the frozen pines. "I'm going to kill you, Aja! I'm going to kill you in your face!" "It's Barca!" the Jackal screams from the ground. "Barca's alive!" On — Pierce Brown

What are you doing?" Alain asked.
"Starting a fire, of course." Mari held up the thing in her hand. "It's a fire-starter. A really simple device. Haven't you ever seen one?"
Alain shook his head. "Never. That thing seems very complicated. I do not understand how it can work."
"How do you start fires?"
That was a Guild secret. Or was it? The elders had told him that no Mechanic could understand how it worked. What would this Mechanic say if he told her? "I use my mind to channel power to create a place where it is hot, altering the nature of the illusion there," Alain explained, "and then use my mind to put that heat on what I want to burn."
"Oh," Mechanic Mari said. "Is that actually how you visualize the process?"
"That is how it is done," Alain said.
"That's ... interesting." She grinned. "So, instead of making fire by doing something complicated or hard to understand like striking a flint, you just alter the nature of reality. That is a lot simpler. — Jack Campbell

For the plan grows under the author's hand; new thoughts occur to him in the act of writing; he has not worked out the argument to the end before he begins. — Plato

Simple spells were light and fun, like a good joke. This spell was as simple as a symphony and as splendid. After adding the last runes, I swirled power through the old spells ensuring they merged with the new spells. The entire castle of spells flexed with the added power, my sign to retreat and hope it worked. Watching the spells bend and move was captivating. One moment they were crawling over each other looking for structure and the next they'd formed a fortress of magic seeking targets, calling them home....
"Jones?"
"Right behind you." He walked around to my left.
"How'd it go?"
"Good. Really good."
"I can tell. You're glowing."
I thought he was joking until I glanced at my hand. I had to look like a giant firefly.
"Narselfart!"
He laughed. "Don't worry about it. It's kinda' cute. Besides, those boys" - he jerked his head to indicate the younger cops - "aren't ever going to forget this power show. — N.E. Conneely

As tight as it had been in the kitchen before they'd left, there were three times as many people crammed in there now, most of them men. Beverly's mother was nowhere in sight and neither was the baby. Beverly was standing at the sink, a butcher's knife in her hand. She was slicing oranges from an enormous pile that was sliding across the counter while the two lawyers from the L.A. County District Attorney's Office, Dick Spencer and Albert Cousins - suit jackets off, ties off, and shirtsleeves rolled up high above the elbow - were twisting the halves of oranges on two metal juicers. Their foreheads were flushed and damp with sweat, their opened collars just beginning to darken, they worked as if the safety of their city relied on the making of orange juice. — Ann Patchett

On the other hand, we worked a year on this and some people are going to watch it in a night and go, "We want more!" And there is something I miss about the longing and the anticipation for the next episode. — Jenji Kohan

I think if I'm guilty of anything, I'm guilty of always being incredibly focused on the task at hand. So wherever I've worked, I've just always tried to do my best, achieve my best, build a great team around me. — Angela Ahrendts

Where are we going?" Desandra asked.
"We're going to Blue Ribbon Stables," I said. "It's the closest place to rent a horse.
"Why?" Desandra asked.
"Because I can't keep up with you on foot," I said.
"And she runs like a rhino." Derek added. "You can hear her a mile away."
Traitor. "I thought you had my back?"
"I do," Derek said. "The rhino running is nice. Makes it easy to keep track of you. If I ever lose you, I just have to listen and there you are."
"Yes," Desandra agreed. "It's convenient."
I laughed.
"Are you always this casual?" Robert asked.
"Derek and I worked together for a long time," I told him. "He's allowed some leeway."
"What about Desandra?"
"She only bothers with protocol when she wants something. The rest of the time it's lewd jokes and descriptions of plums."
Desandra snickered.
Robert's eyebrows crept up. "Plums?"
I waved my hand. "Don't ask. — Ilona Andrews

When nothing else worked, we created a holistic, hand-tailored program that saved Pax's life. At Passages, he and I use what we learned in curing him to help other discover the roots of their addiction or alcoholism and break free. — Chris Prentiss

Ms. Casey is standing in front of the class explaining how she worked all weekend to get the tests graded so she could hand them back on Monday morning, and you're wondering if you're supposed to be impressed that she did her job. — Charles Benoit

I don't like to go into the studio with all the songs worked out and planned before hand ... you've got to give the band something to use its imagination on as well. That can make a very ordinary song come alive into something totally different ... the X-factor - so important in rock and roll - which is the feel.. — Keith Richards

Chance worked lower to the steel bands of his abdomen and went lower still. His soap laden hand clasped his cock as his mind wandered to thoughts of Alyssa. She was the epitome of pain in the ass, but he liked that about her. She was sexy as hell with her attitude that screamed ten foot tall and bullet proof. — Alex Morgan

Aelin's hand wavered slightly over his wound. "What's your shield made of, then?"
Fenrys tried and failed to shrug. But Gavriel muttered from where he worked on the still-whimpering pirate, "Arrogance."
Aelin snorted, but didn't dare take her eyes off Fenrys's injury as she said, "So you do have sense of humor, Gavriel."
The Lion of Doranelle gave a wary smile over his shoulder. The rare-sighted, restrained twin to Aedion's own flashing grins. Aelin had called him Uncle Kitty-Cat all of one time before Aedion had snarled viciously enough to make her think carefully before using the term again. Gavriel, to his credit, had merely given Aelin a long-suffereing sigh that seemed to be used only when she or Fenrys were around.
"That sense of humor only appears about once every century," Fenrys rasped, "so you'd better hope you Settle, or else that's the last time you'll see it. — Sarah J. Maas

Her hand covered mine, and she spoke softly. "Travis needs work. Trust me, I understand any and all reservations you have about him, but look how much he's already changed for you. Think about the last two weeks, Abby. He's not Mick."
"I'm Mick! I get involved with Travis and everything we've worked for ... poof!" I snapped my fingers. "Just like that! — Jamie McGuire

I don't want to make her [Maggie] a target again," I said.
Michael sighed patiently. "Harry," he said, as if speaking to a rather slow child,"I'm not sure if you noticed this. But things did not turn out well for the last monster who raised his hand against your child. Or any of his friends. Or associates. Or anyone who worked for him. Or for most of the people he knew. — Jim Butcher

One hand has surely worked throughout the universe. — Charles Darwin

I couldn't resist the urge to reach over to the gearshift and put my hand over Wesley's. His skin was warm and soft, and I could feel his pulse throbbing steadily beneath my palm. I forgot about my stupid car and my fight with Casey. I just wanted Wesley to smile again. Even that cocky grin would have worked. I hated that he was so hurt by the possibility of losing his sister's respect. I wanted to comfort him. I cared about him.
Oh my God. I actually cared? — Kody Keplinger

I don't have to work on it. I'm naturally a writer. The rapping and writing, they can go hand-in-hand - but rapping is an art that you have to practice and master, so I worked at it for a long time. — Lupe Fiasco

His hand came forward, an all too manly appendage lined by callouses. If that trigger finger could produce as accurate shooting as the callous running across it suggested, she'd be tempted to be sick. She'd worked her whole life for a star and he'd gotten one within a half hour. — Anne Garboczi Evans

I cleared my throat and began my presentation. As I moved through the different aspects of the proposal, he stayed silent, staring directly at his copy. Why was he so calm? His temper tantrums I could handle. But the eerie silence? It was unnerving.

I was leaning over the table, gesturing toward a set of graphs, when it happened.

"Their timeline for the first milestone is a little ambi-" I stopped midsentence, my breath caught in my throat. His hand pressed gently into my lower back before sliding down, settling on the curve of my ass. In the nine months I had worked for him, he had never intentionally touched me.

This was most definitely intentional. — Christina Lauren

I have a tradition of working with actors, over and over again. I've worked with Jason Bateman, over and over again. You get to know an actor, and you get a certain trust and a comfort, and you become really good friends, and you feel like you've got a short-hand. — Peter Berg

You could easily tell that hardwork and perseverance go hand in hand with patience. We often hear people say patience is worth it, yet we don't practice it. I did and look how well it worked out for me. — Aliko Dangote

There was a scavenging peasant moving about, whistling as he worked, with an outsize gunny sack on his back. The whitened knuckles of the hand which gripped the sack revealed his determined frame of mind; the whistling, which was piercing but tuneful, showed that he was keeping his spirits up. The whistle echoed around the field, bouncing off fallen helmets, resounding hollowly from the barrels of mud-blocked rifles, sinking without trace into the fallen boots of the strange, strange crops, whose smell, like the smell of unfairness, was capable of bringing tears to the buddha's eyes. The crops were dead, having been hit by some unknown blight ... and most of them, but not all, wore the uniforms of the West Pakistani Army. Apart from the whistling, the only noises to be heard were the sounds of objects dropping into the peasant's treasure-sack: leather belts, watches, gold tooth-fillings, spectacle frames, tiffin-carriers, water flasks, boots. — Salman Rushdie

I sucked that smoke in and made it part of me, joined mystically with the universe right at that point, said Yes to drugs forever just by the unique hit I got from that one packet of fags Andy liberated from his dad. It was a revelation, an epiphany; a sudden realisation that it was possible for matter - something there in front of you, in your hand, in your lungs, in your pocket - to take your brain apart and reassemble it in ways you hadn't thought of previously. This was better than religion, or this was what people meant by religion! The whole point was that this worked! People said Believe In God or Do Well At School or Buy This or Vote For Me or whatever, but nothing ever worked the way substances worked, nothing ever fucking delivered the way they did. They were truth. Everything else was falsehood. — Iain Banks

My mom worked as a housekeeper, and I saw her relationship with her employers - how on the one hand she spent more time with these women than with a lot of her friends, and how in certain ways they were friends. But then they weren't. — Jesmyn Ward

She hardly ever began conversations with strangers just to talk. It was not a matter of shyness. For her, a conversation had a straightforward function. How do I get to the pharmacy? or How much does the hotel room cost? Conversation also had a professional function. [ ... ] When she worked as a researcher [ ... ], she had never minded having a long conversation if it was to ferret out facts. On the other hand, she disliked personal discussions, which always led to snooping around in areas she considered private. — Stieg Larsson

When I worked in a second-hand bookshop - so easily pictured, if you don't work in one, as a kind of paradise where charming old gentlemen browse eternally among calf-bound folios - the thing that chiefly struck me was the rarity of really bookish people. Our shop had an exceptionally interesting stock, yet I doubt whether ten per cent of our customers knew a good book from a bad one. First edition snobs were much commoner than lovers of literature, but oriental students haggling over cheap textbooks were commoner still, and vague-minded women looking for birthday presents for their nephews were commonest of all. — George Orwell

I was beginning to taste it. Something bitter, but warm.
A flavor that woke me up and let me see things clearly. A flavor that made me feel safe, so I could let those things go. A flavor that held my hand and walked me across to the other side of loss, and assured me that one day, I would be just fine. A flavor for a change of heart- part grief, part hope.
Suddenly, I knew what that flavor would be. I padded down to the kitchen and cut a slice of sour cream coffee cake with a spicy underground river coursing through its center, left over from an order that had not been picked up today.
One bite and I was sure. A familiar flavor that now seemed utterly fresh and custom-made for me.
Cinnamon.
The comfort of sweet cinnamon. It always worked. I felt better. Lighter. Not quite "everything is going to be all right," but getting there. One step at a time. — Judith Fertig

Again, this week as I walked on Broadway, in front of giant photographs of voluptuous supermodels at a Victoria Secret mega-store, who was rebuilding the sidewalks? With sweaty headbands, ripped-up jeans, and dust on their brown faces? Their muscled hands quivered as they worked the jack-hammers and lugged the concrete chunks into dump trucks. Two men from Guanajuato. Undocumented workers. They both shook my hand vigorously, as if they were relieved I wasn't an INS officer.
I imagined how much money Victoria Secret was making off these poor bastards. I wondered why passersby didn't see what was in front of their faces. We use these workers. We profit from them. In the shadows, they work to the bone, for pennies. And it's so easy to blame them for everything and nothing simply because they are powerless, and dark-skinned,and speak with funny accents. Illegal is illegal. It is a phrase, shallow and cruel, that should prompt any decent American to burn with anger. — Sergio Troncoso

Zane brought her hand to his chest, over his heart and she felt the strong rapid beat through his shirt. "Feel that?" His throat worked as he swallowed. "It would break if I fell for you and anything happened that would take you away from me."
Zane to Willow in 'The Edge of Sin' in the Real Men Last all Night anthology — Cheyenne McCray

Day after day, night after night, study session after study session, we exchanged emails, we talked about our project, we read and worked and researched together, and there were times that I wanted him so much, I worried if he so much as touched my hand, I'd split right open and spill my soul all over the floor. — Viv Daniels

The "Florida bail bond racket" was, according to a former Orlando newspaper editor, the "most lucrative business in the state." The bondsmen worked hand in glove with employers to secure labor in exchange for fines and bond costs. Citrus grove foremen informed bondsmen how many men were needed, and workers were "secured from the stockades." If workers attempted to flee across state lines, they could be recaptured "without the formality of extradition proceedings." They had no choice but to work to pay off their fines at whatever grove or camp they were taken to, and they often worked under the supervision of armed guards, as they might on a chain gang. — Gilbert King

I'll tell you all about it, but let's eat first. I've had nothing to eat. Although I was offered some raw squirrel. Canned pudding, that's what I want. I've been dreaming about it."
She hauled out a can and feverishly worked the can opener. She didn't wait for a dish or spoon, but thrust her hand in and scooped some into her mouth. Then she stood transfixed, overwhelmed by the wonderful sweetness of it.
She was crying when she said, "I'm sorry, I've forgotten how to be polite. I'll get you guys your own can."
Sam hobbled over and scooped some pudding of his own, following her lead. "I'm way past polite myself," he said, although she could see he was a little appalled by her wolfish behavior. She decided then that she liked him. — Michael Grant

Kevin Bacon and I recently worked on a move together, R.I.P.D. Just before we'd begin a scene, when all of us would feel the normal anxiety that actors feel be- fore they start to perform, Kevin would look at me and the other actors with a very serious expression on his face and say: "Remember, everything depends on this!" It would make us all laugh. On the one hand, it's not true of course, but on the other, everything does depend on this, on just this moment and our attitude toward this moment. — Jeff Bridges

How had he lost the upper hand so quickly? His dick jerked and wept like it had found the happiest place on earth. He was gonna come, but he'd be damned if he did it before Michaels. He dropped his arm from around Michaels' chest and gripped him on his hip, using it to slam that sexy ass back into him while he jerked him fast with the other. He felt Michaels' dick jump in his fist and knew it was time. Good because he was past time. "Fuckin' come," he hissed, snapping his hips forward at the same time he squeezed the head of Michaels' dick. He went down on that length one more time, squeezed hard, twisted his palm and shot his fist back up, wrenching the first spurt of hot come from it. Yesssss. Michaels grunted with the next spurt and worked his ass hard against Judge's aching dick. The sounds he made were delicious and wicked. Sounds he'd never heard a man make. Masculine but erotic as hell. Not ashamed to show Judge how much he'd pleased him. It — A.E. Via

Shon has been his right hand for the last five years. Shon was his best friend and like a brother to him- not just someone who worked for him. — Jessica N. Watkins

Her senior thesis was based on the notion that no one should be allowed to own more land than could be worked in a day, by hand. — Alice Walker

You may thank God you didn't want to be an actor, Tom, because you would have been a very bad one. You worked it out at Thanksgiving, I guess, when you were all together. And it's working smooth as butter. I see Will's hand in this. Don't tell me if you don't want to."
"I wasn't in favor of it," said Tom.
"It doesn't sound like you," his father said. "You'd be for scattering the truth out in the sun for me to see. Don't tell the others I know." He turned away and then came back and put his hand on Tom's shoulder. "Thank you for wanting to honor me with the truth, my son. It's not clever but it's more permanent. — John Steinbeck

Pretty soon, I'll be decomposing into phosphorous, calcium, and so on. Who else will you find to tell you the truth? All that's left are the archives. Pieces of paper. And the truth is... I worked at an archive myself, I can tell you first hand: paper lies even more than people do. — Svetlana Alexievich

Demetrious was studying Law on the Open University and was, in all ways, a ray of sunshine into her life: warm and glorious, achingly temporary. He lived just off the high street with his boyfriend Rob, who worked in the City, doing something neither Demi nor Sukie pretended to understand.
"All the cute guys are gay," Sukie had laughed, that first day, holding her coffee mug high to her face to hide her genuine disappointment. Demi had just tilted his head and looked at her playfully, an expression she would get to know well.
"I'm not gay," he had clarified, matter-of-factly.
"Living with a boyfriend called Rob doesn't sound very straight!" Sukie had pointed out.
"Labels!" Demi had scorned, with one of his characteristic and very Greek hand gestures. "I fall in love with the person, not the gender. — Erin Lawless

God," he choked out. "This can't happen."
"Oh, yes it can." Breathless, she worked the buttons of his trouser falls. "It will. It must." Having freed the closures of his trousers and smallclothes, she snaked her hand through the opening and brazenly took him in hand. Of course, now that she had him in hand, she wasn't quite sure what to do with him. She tentatively skimmed one fingertip over the smooth, rounded crown of his erection. In return, he pressed a single finger into her aching core.
"Cecily." He shut his eyes and grit his teeth. "If I don't stop this now ... "
"You never will?" She pressed her lips to his earlobe. "That's my fondest hope. You say you're done with fighting, Luke? Then stop fighting this."
He sighed deep in his chest, and she felt all the tension coiled in those powerful muscles release. "Very well," he said quietly, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Very well. To you, I gratefully surrender. — Tessa Dare

Ildiko clutched his arm, unwilling to have him leave her side. "I enjoy your touch, Brishen."

The stiffness eased from his shoulders. He gave her a wry look and pressed his palm to the pale expanse of skin just below her collarbones. His hand rose and fell in quick time to her breathing. "I believe you, but this tells me you fear it as well."

She winced. "Your teeth are so...sharp."

"They are, but I'm not careless, wife. And if, for some unfathomable reason, I accidently bite you, you're welcome to bite me back."

His attempt at humor worked, and Ildiko chuckled. "Brishen - " She offered him a toothy grin. "These wouldn't do much damage."

He traced the line of her collarbones with the rough pads of his fingers, their dark claws a whisper of movement across her flesh. "You have obviously never been badly bitten by a horse. — Grace Draven

I've seen guys come along with more ability - they've been faster or bigger or stronger - but they never worked hard to develop themselves. Sometimes I've wondered what I could have done with their talent. On the other hand, the tag that I was too small and slow made me work hard. — Steve Largent

I had worked my way through a thousand problems, like when the tar paper bulged on the corners so I used a strap wrapped around the whole house and ratcheted it tight to attach the trim; I had figured that out without using a book, and that was just one of a bunch of ideas that had saved the day. I liked it; I was falling in love with the way my kneecaps knew how to hold a piece of plywood halfway up till I could grab the underside with my hand. I like the way the little house was taking shape, and the way it seemed to double-dog dare me to step in... move in. — Dee Williams

Michael Jackson was extraordinary, When we worked together on 'Bad,' I was in awe of his absolute mastery of movement on the one hand, and of the music on the other. Every step he took was absolutely precise and fluid at the same time. It was like watching quicksilver in motion. He was wonderful to work with, an absolute professional at all times, and it really goes without saying ... a true artist. It will be a while before I can get used to the idea that he's no longer with us. — Martin Scorsese

I worked at a local television station and I got a chance to direct and do all those things - worked kiddie shows, Ranger House show with the hand puppets and things like that. — Barry Levinson

With this house. Placing his hand on the cool metal handle on the door of his black Bentley, he barely heard the familiar click as the catch released. And as he climbed into the seat, he was oblivious to the fresh, pungent smell of the smooth leather upholstery. Pulling quickly out of the driveway, Rafe began heading the short distance to the city, where he had a condo a couple of blocks from his office building. Luckily, Sharron had refused to live in San Francisco, causing him to sleep there on the many late nights he'd worked. The apartment was his - his — Melody Anne

if only my savvy worked in reverse, i thought again- and not for the last time.if only i could draw a smiling sun on the back of my hand, then everyone around me could know exactly how I felt, exactly how happy I was at that perfect moment. — Ingrid Law

Kaz had rescued her from that hopelessness, and their lives had been a series of rescues ever since, a string of debts that they never tallied as they saved each other again and again. Lying in the dark, she realized that for all her doubts, she'd believed he would rescue her once more, that he would put aside his greed and his demons and come for her. Now she wasn't so sure. Because it was not just the sense in the words she'd spoken that had stilled Van Eck's hand but the truth he'd heard in her voice. He'll never trade if you break me. She could not pretend those words had been conjured by strategy or even animal cunning. The magic they'd worked had been born of belief. An ugly enchantment. — Leigh Bardugo

The position does not make you a leader. The title, the promotion, the fancy corner office do not make you a leader. No, it is relationships with people that are the foundation, the very heart of leadership. Have you ever worked for someone you didn't like? It's difficult, isn't it? On the other hand, the leader you will follow anywhere and everywhere is one you know cares about you, and values you. This person has your best interests at heart. It is the leader who comes alongside to help you improve and grow. — John C. Maxwell

Your body is yours to protect and to enjoy." She raises both eyebrows at me meaningfully. "Whoever you should choose to partake in that enjoyment, that is your choice, and choose wisely. Every man that ever got to touch me was afforded an honor. A privilege." Stormy waves her hand over me. "All this? It's a privilege to worship at this temple, do you understand my meaning? Not just any young fool can approach the throne. Remember my words, Lara Jean. You decide who, how far, and how often, if ever."
"I had no idea you were such a feminist," I say.
"Feminist?" Stormy makes a disgusted sound in her throat. "I'm no feminist. Really, Lara Jean!"
"Stormy, don't get worked up about it. All it means is that you believe men and women are equal, and should have equal rights."
"I don't think any man is my equal. Women are far superior, and don't you forget it. Don't forget any of the things I just told you. — Jenny Han

My favorite "trick" is to stop writing at a point where I know that I can pick up easily the next day. I'll stop in mid-paragraph, often in midsentence. It makes getting out of bed so much easier, because I know that all I'll have to do to be productive is complete the sentence. And by then I'll be seated at my desk, coffee and Oreo cookie at hand, the morning's inertia overcome. There's an added advantage: The human brain hates incomplete sentences. All night my mind will have secretly worked on the passage and likely mapped out the remainder of the page, even the chapter, while simultaneously sending me on a dinner date with Cate Blanchett. — Erik Larson

I shut up everything inside. Everything." Words ground out through clenched teeth. "I thought if I could hold it, just hold it, it would be fine. But it's not."
"Why?" she asked. "Why are you losing control so badly?"
The answer, when it came, broke Sascha's heart.
"Hawke." It was an almost soundless whisper.
"Oh, Sienna." She stroked her hand over the girl's hair, even as her mind worked at piercing speed. "Has it been cumulative?"
Sienna nodded. "The second I met him, everything crumbled, my shields, my conditioning, everything! — Nalini Singh

At Universal Studios, Marston had a hand in films like Show Boat, in 1929. He also helped get films past the censors, including All Quiet on the Western Front, in 1930. When Carl Laemmle's son, Junior Laemmle, took over Universal, he turned it into a specialty shop for horror films: Marston's theory of emotions lies behind the particular brand of psychological terror in Laemmle's Frankenstein (1931), Dracula (1931), and The Invisible Man (1933). Before Marston left Hollywood, he also worked for Paramount. For Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931), he tested audience reaction by strapping viewers to blood pressure cuffs while they watched the rushes.30 — Jill Lepore

Because I didn't have any queer, lesbian, female role models I hated my own femininity and had to look deep within myself to create an identity that worked for me. Pop culture just doesn't hand us enough variety to choose from. — Beth Ditto

How's that sister of yours?" I ask, changing the subject.
"She's waiting to beat you again at checkers."
"Is that right? Well, tell her I was goin easy on her. I was tryin' to impress you."
"By losing?"
I shrug. "It worked, didn't it?"
I notice her fidgeting with her dress as if she needs to fix it to impress me. Wanting to ease her anxiety, I slide my fingers down her arm before capturing her hand in mine.
"You tell Shelley I'll be back for a rematch," I say.
She turns to me, her blue eyes sparkling. "Really?"
"Absolutely. — Simone Elkeles

Nathan stared at the floor. "Honestly? He's a C5-6 quadriplegic. That means nothing works below about here ... " He placed a hand on the upper part of his chest. "They haven't worked out how to fix a spinal cord yet." I stared at the door, thinking about Will's face as we drove along in the winter sunshine, the beaming face of the man on the skiing holiday. "There are all sorts of medical advances taking place, though, right? I mean ... somewhere like this ... they must be working on stuff all the time. — Jojo Moyes

Her face crumpled and he felt her pain as if it was his own. He wanted to take it back, but just like that memory, it was always going to be there.
She worked to get control over her features, then said, "I'm sorry I didn't defend you. I'm sorry I didn't tell them you were my guest."
Jem hadn't thought he cared anymore, not really, but her words were tugging loose the hard, painful knot in his chest. "It's okay."
She shook her head. "It's not. It wasn't."
He reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand. He didn't know what else to say and all he wanted was to touch her skin, let her know that he wasn't that boy anymore and that she wasn't that girl. — Mary Jane Hathaway

Every successful painter has worked hard. He cannot rest after having gained a certain degree of facility in drawing, and expect to retain it. He must advance or fall behind. Without practice he will forget; his eye will fail him; and his hand will deny its master. — Walter J. Phillips

I worked on 'USA Today' as a topic for while. I tried to do something on hand chairs, chairs that look like hands. I really tried. But some topics are not truly universal. — Jim Gaffigan

Blue got herself back together and then turned on the radio.
Adam hadn't even realized the ancient tape deck worked, but after a hissing few seconds, a tape inside jangled a tune. Noah began to sing along at once.
'Squash one, squash two-'
Adam pawed for the radio at the same time as Blue. The tape ejected with enough force that Noah stretched a hand to catch it.
'That song. What are you doing with that in your player?' Demanded Blue. 'Do you listen to that recreationally? How did that song escape from the Internet?'
Noah cackled and showed them the cassette. It boasted a handmade label marked with Ronan's handwriting: PARRISH'S HONDAYOTA ALONE TIME. The other side was A SHITBOX SINGALONG.
'Play it! Play it!' Noah said gaily, waving the tape.
'Noah. Noah! Take that away from him,' Adam said. — Maggie Stiefvater

People who supported Obama felt like they formed a relationship, that they were being spoken to. The way that campaign worked and the way he's worked during his first term is to make people feel like he's grasping their hand, whether it's by tweeting or email, moments after an event, sometimes during an event. It makes people relate to him. — James Spader

As I approach my fortieth birthday without having accomplished any one of the things I intended to accomplish - without ever having achieved the deep creativity that I have worked toward for all this time - I feel that I take a minor, an obscure, a dim position that is not my destiny but that is my fault, as if I had lacked, somewhere along the line, the wit and courage to contain myself competently within the shapes at hand. — John Cheever