Hand Wrinkles Quotes & Sayings

His name was George F. Babbitt. He was forty-six years old now, in April, 1920, and he made nothing in particular, neither butter nor shoes nor poetry, but he was nimble in the calling of selling houses for more than people could afford to pay.
His large head was pink, his brown hair thin and dry. His face was babyish in slumber, despite his wrinkles and the red spectacle-dents on the slopes of his nose. He was not fat but he was exceedingly well fed; his cheeks were pads, and the unroughened hand which lay helpless upon the khaki-colored blanket was slightly puffy. — Sinclair Lewis

PALMISTRY, n. The 947th method ... of obtaining money by false pretences [by] "reading character" in the wrinkles [of] the hand. The pretence is not altogether false ... for the wrinkles in every hand submitted plainly spell the word "dupe." — Ambrose Bierce

The new stuff's brilliant," I volunteer somewhat hesitantly because I really, really don't want him thinking that I'm trying to kiss his arse, but to my amazement he wrinkles his nose and seesaws his hand. "You don't like it?"
He shifts slightly. "No, it's fine. It's just sometimes it gets a bit uncomfortable singing lyrics that seem to be an ode to my sister in law's vagina! — Lily Morton

It is a splendid thing to think that the woman you really love will never grow old to you. Through the wrinkles of time, through the mask of years, if you really love her, you will always see the face you loved and won. And a woman who really loves a man does not see that he grows old; he is not decrepit to her; he does not tremble; he is not old; she always sees the same gallant gentleman who won her hand and heart. I like to think of it in that way; I like to think that love is eternal. And to love in that way and then go down the hill of life together, and as you go down, hear, perhaps, the laughter of grandchildren, while the birds of joy and love sing once more in the leafless branches of the tree of age. — Robert G. Ingersoll

Photography is about being exquisitely present. — Joel Meyerowitz

But why do you want me? I mean, what am I? Ask yourself that."
"I often have. — P.G. Wodehouse

Titter," Radcliffe muttered as he pushed the window open on the first empty room he found on the main floor. "What the devil is a titter? And how the hell am I supposed to try not to look so large?" Shaking his head with disgust, he held the window open with one hand as he sat on the ledge, then swung one leg after the other over the sill and into the room. Standing, he let the window slide closed, then took a moment to brush the wrinkles out of his skirt and yank at the bottom of his bodice to straighten it before hurrying across the room.
Pausing at the door, he pressed an ear to it to listen briefly, then eased it open and peered out. It was early afternoon and yet it seemed the women were all still abed. Slipping into the hallway, he pulled the door gently closed and hurried as quickly as a man could in a dress that kept catching at his boot spurs, toward the stairs. — Lynsay Sands

Preacher was a small man, a mite, and his face was a million wrinkles. Tufts of gray wool sprouted from his bluish skull and his eyes were sorrowful. He was so bent that he resembled a rusty sickle and his skin was the yellow of superior leather. As he studied what remained of his farm, his hand pestered his chin wisely but, to tell the truth, he was thinking nothing. — Truman Capote

There is still in many schools complete misapprehension that children with reading difficulties are stupid. It is so easy to teach a child that they're dumb. There needs to be a recognition that you need different ways to teach children who have got reading problems. — Jackie French

Old Azureus's manner of welcoming people was a silent rhapsody. Ecstatically beaming, slowly, tenderly, he would take your hand between his soft palms, hold it thus as if it were a long sought treasure or a sparrow all fluff and heart, in moist silence, peering at you the while with his beaming wrinkles rather than with his eyes, and then, very slowly, the silvery smile would start to dissolve, the tender old hands would gradually release their hold, a blank expression replace the fervent light of his pale fragile face, and he would leave you as if he had made a mistake, as if after all you were not the loved one - the loved one whom, the next moment, he would espy in another corner, and again the smile would dawn, again the hands would enfold the sparrow, again it would all dissolve. — Vladimir Nabokov

willpower. Keep going! — Lysa TerKeurst

You do love him," I said, and she swung her gaze back to me.
"I do." She smoothed her hand over her thighs, flattening imaginary wrinkles from the linen.
"Even though he's not your family."
Saylor laughed, a surprisingly husky sound. "Don't you love people who aren't your family, Harper Jane?"
"Of course I do. But you love him for more than the whole Oracle thing. You love him because he's David. — Rachel Hawkins

Tell me about your friends."
"I hardly knew them. The one who ran off with the girl is named Christopher Columbus. Tall guy. Really skinny. Green hair. Fangs. Six fingers on his left hand. About a hundred years old. Lots of wrinkles."
"I trust you are enjoying yourself." the commander sneered. — Brandon Mull

Most houses were crammed with immovable objects in their proper places, and each object told you what to do - here you ate, here you slept, here you sat. I tried to imagine carpets, wardrobes, pictures, chairs, a sewing machine, in these gaping, smashed-up rooms. I was pleased by how irrelevant, how puny such objects now appeared. — Ian McEwan

Storytime is over, Rock. Every time you want to 'bring it,' because it belongs to me, I'm just going to take it!. — CM Punk

A heavy silence as the first sparks of revolution are struck. Sevro comes close. "That was rousing." "Too demokratic?" I whisper. "I don't think autocratic demokracy counts." Sevro wrinkles his nose. "You did threaten to vent them into space." "Threaten? I thought I implied it rather smoothly." "Smooth as gravel, dipshit." Sevro cackles a bit too enthusiastically and slaps his leg with his mech hand, denting the metal there. — Pierce Brown

Everything is a self-portrait. A diary. Your whole drug history's in a strand of your hair. Your fingernails. The forensic details. The lining of your stomach is a document. The calluses on your hand tell all your secrets. Your teeth give you away. Your accent. The wrinkles around your mouth and eyes. Everything you do shows your hand. — Chuck Palahniuk

India always changes people, and I have been no exception — Ruth Prawer Jhabvala

Do not be ashamed of your most beautiful body, ma petite," he said, placing a hand flat on her abdomen. "Me? I would be proud. For you have given life! This strong female flesh has carried and born children. Such scars, wrinkles and imperfections were honorably earned. You are a mature woman, with many life experiences. — Nikki Sex

The palmist looks at the wrinkles made by closing the hand and says they signify character. The philosopher reads character by what the hand most loves to close upon. — Ambrose Bierce

Miles watched the evening shadows flowing up along the backbone of the Dendarii range, high and massive in the distance. How small those mountains looked from space! Little wrinkles on the skin of a globe he could cover with his hand, all their crushing mass made invisible. Which was illusory, distance or nearness? Distance, Miles decided. Distance was a damned lie. Had his father known this? Miles suspected so. — Lois McMaster Bujold

Apathy. I haven't yet reached that stage. I'm still at the complaining one, but I imagine that soon - in a matter of months, days, or hours - a complete lack of interest will set in that will be very hard to dispel. — Paulo Coelho