Hands Not Showing Quotes & Sayings

If God seems to be in no hurry to make the problem of evil go away, maybe we shouldn't be, either. Maybe our compulsion to wash God's hands for him is a service he doesn't appreciate. Maybe - all theodicies and nearly all theologians to the contrary - evil is where we meet God. Maybe he isn't bothered by showing up dirty for his dates with creation. Maybe - just maybe - if we ever solved the problem, we'd have talked ourselves out of a lover. — Robert Farrar Capon

I went to a tattoo parlor and had YES written onto the palm of my left hand, and NO onto my right palm, what can I say, it hasn't made life wonderful, it's made life possible, when I rub my hands against each other in the middle of winter I am warming myself with the friction of YES and NO, when I clap my hands I am showing my appreciation through the uniting and parting of YES and NO, I signify "book" by peeling open my clapped hands, every book, for me, is the balance of YES and NO, even this one, my last one, especially this one. — Jonathan Safran Foer

Not only are the poorest people the most generous but they don't expect anything in return, least of all recognition from others by means of showing off or posting a humble brag like so many from average society do and you can identify these people through the abundance of photos they post, literally with their hands in the air, showing off what they've done for the "less fortunate." I guess they missed the part where God said to be humble and to do good works in private. — Donna Lynn Hope

Dinner, served between 10:00 A.M. and noon, was the main meal of the day. A trumpeter or crier would announce the meal at a castle. When a guest entered, the ladies would curtsey and take their seats. The lord might give the guest a light, quick kiss before showing the guest to his seat at the lord's table. Attendants or pages would bring a washbowl forward and pour water for the guest and lord out of an aquanmanile (an elaborate pitcher). The rest of the diners would wash their hands in a lavabo-type dispenser in the great hall and dry their hands on a long towel. They would then take their seats at the lower trestle tables on benches that often served as their beds at night. The diners were served in order: first the visiting clergy, the visiting nobles, the lord and his family, then the retainers. — Sherrilyn Kenyon

She had doll-like, almost delicate limbs, small hands, and hardly any hips.
But she now had breasts.
All her life sje jad been flat-chested, as if she had never reached puberty. She thought it had looked ridiculous, and she was always uncomfortable showing herself naked.
Now, all of a sudden, she had breasts. They were by no means gigantic - that was not whatshe had wanted, and they would have looked ridiculous on her otherwise skinny body - but they were two solid, round breasts of medium size. The enlargements had been well done, and the proportions were reasonable. But the difference was dramatic. — Stieg Larsson

It was Dolana, at the salt farm, who first told me about the gaze of men: that look of temporary possession that some men pressed against female flesh. About its dangers and possibilities. It can be used to survive, Dolana had said softly, showing me the power that lay in reflecting a man's desire. And even at twelve years old, the knowledge of it was already in the way I moved my head, my hands, my shoulders. But Dolana had whispered her secrets to a girl. And I had to become a boy. I had to stop being alert to the turn of a man's head towards me. Stop glancing up to meet his gaze in fleeting connection. Stop falsely veiling my eyes from his momentary interest. It was hard to train out of my body, but I practised and learned to cloak myself in the skin and gaze of a boy. — Alison Goodman

Eli keeps showing me random things." he said, shaking his head.
"Like what?" I whispered, not able to help myself.
"His toes in the dirt, chicken noodle soup, Legos, pine cones, and Calico. Always Calico." He shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "What do you think he's trying to tell me?"
"Those are his favorite things. He's telling you his greats. — Amy Harmon

Mine, I thought deliriously, as a shadow swept over us, like a cape had been thrown over the sky.
Mine, as my hands stroked up that strong back, velvety and warm, where every dip and line of muscle fit sweetly into my palms.
Mine, as the storm trembled in the air around us, and shook the earth beneath us.
"Mine," I murmured, as blue eyes met mine, wide and startled. And then closed again as he took my breath in a kiss so consuming that I barely noticed when the storm continued on toward the horizon, the midnight wings showing vague starlight through in patches as it passed overhead.
As it missed us.
"Yours," Louis-Cesare groaned — Karen Chance

This industry isn't fair. It doesn't owe anybody a career. It's just about luck, determination, and showing up and being professional. The rest is out of your hands. — Samuel Barnett

Sydney had to call Jackie back, and since my hands were full, she handed Declan off to Rose. "Just rock him," I said, seeing her panic.
Rose blanched but complied, earning laughter in return from Dimitri. "Rose Hathaway, notorious rebel, showing her maternal side."
She stuck her tongue out at him. "Enjoy it while you can, comrade. This is as close as you'll ever get to it. — Richelle Mead

Somewhere in the gluey Nyquil haze, the memory came of standing in the lake with Lise the week before, stomping their feet in the emerald thick of the water. On the shoreline were Skye's hard-jeaned boys with their disappearing tattoos. They whistled at Lise, fingers hooked in their mouths. Let's do it, Lise whispered in her ear, her tongue showing between her teeth. Let's go in. When she woke up, in the purple of four a.m., she could still hear Lise's voice in her ear, high as a little girl's. We went behind those tall bushes. He took my tights off first. It was so cold, but his hands - — Megan Abbott

But in the dark now and no glow showing and no lights and only the wind and the steady pull of the sail he felt that perhaps he was already dead. He put his two hands together and felt the palms. They were not dead and he could bring the pain of life by simply opening and closing them. He leaned his back against the stern and knew he was not dead. His shoulders told him. — Ernest Hemingway,

Yet people are still showing up to lift their hands after all these years even though the church is flawed and broken and beautiful and has a shameful, ugly side to it that I'll bet it wishes it didn't have and repeatedly tries to hide.
Just like me.
Just like you.
Just like always. — Max Andrew Dubinsky

The mage leaned both hands on the table, scanning the charts splayed out on its surface. There was a map there, showing a land he could not recognize: a ragged coastline of fjords studded with cursory sketches of pine trees. Inland was a faint whitewash, as of ice or snow. A course had been plotted, striking east from the jagged shoreline, then southward across a vast ocean. The Malazan Empire purported to have world maps, but they showed nothing like the land he saw here. The Empire's claim to dominance suddenly seemed pathetic. — Steven Erikson

I still find it interesting that there could be a point between a young guy and a girl when they decide to hold hands as they walk down the block. At some point, they decide to make the leap from pushing and insulting each other to doing something tender and possessive and showing the world that. — Amy Heckerling

A man in a white shirt and black pants leapt from one of the open windows. His hair was on fire. His arms pinwheeled as he dropped out of frame. He was followed seconds later by a woman in a dark skirt. When she jumped, she clasped her hands to her thighs, as if to keep her skirt from flapping up and showing her underwear. Jakob — Joe Hill

I took my friend's hand as she helped me up. With our hands still linked and our flower crowns tangled in our hair, we danced, laughing with joy, through the rain and towards the school, the lightning showing us our path with its powerful light. — Erica Sehyun Song

I stretched out my hands as if to ward him off. "Not yet. I want to know what your end game is first."
Another flash of teeth, this time showing his fangs.
"To have you screaming my name within the hour. — Jeaniene Frost

The world can use more light and less noise. More solvers and fewer blamers. More folks showing a better way and fewer folks complaining about how much better things used to be. More folks offering help and fewer folks wringing their hands about the problems. More hope bringers and fewer hope killers. — Steve Goodier

It all happened in a second. The three of them reached Baby at the same time. She lay crumpled down on the dirty sidewalk. Her skirt was over her head, showing her pink panties and her little white legs. Her hands were open - in one there was the prize from the candy and in the other the pocketbook. There was blood all over her hair ribbon and the top of her yellow curls. She was shot in the head and her face was turned down toward the ground. — Carson McCullers

Hanna was surprised by the warmth of the chicken's feet, that were scaly and bony and should not be warm at all. She could feel her father laughing at her, as he left her to it and went into the house. Hanna held the chicken away from herself with both hands and tried not to drop the thing as it flapped in the wind and twisted over the space where its head used to be. One of the cats already had the fleshy cockscomb in its little cat's teeth, and was running away with the head bobbing under its little white chin. Hanna might have screamed at all that - at the dangling, ragged neck and the cock's outraged eye - but she was too busy keeping the corpse from jerking out of her hands. The wings were agape, the russet feathers all ruffled back and showing their yellow under-down, and the body was shitting under the black tail feathers, in squirts that mimicked the squirting blood. — Anne Enright

He turned to look at me straight on, and I saw a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man was only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I saw visions of grape vines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turned to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. I knew that if I pushed him, Mr D would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brain that would leave me wearing a straitjacket in a rubber room for the rest of my life. 'Would you like to test me, child?' he said quietly. 'No. No, sir. — Rick Riordan

She planted her hands on her hips. "Which twin are you?"
He studied the ground for a moment, then peered up at her, suspicion showing clearly in his brown eyes.
"Joe."
"Well, Josh, are you alone out here?"
"I said I was Joe."
"And I think you're afraid I'm going to tell how you frightened me so you gave me your brother's name. — Lorraine Heath

She leaned back against the step, smoothing her hands over her stomach. Though she wasn't showing yet, just in the last week she'd started to look different. It wasn't something I could describe easily. It was like those stop-action films of flowers blooming that we watched in Biology. Every frame something is happening, something little that would be missed in real time - the sprout pushing, bit by bit, from the ground, the petals slowly moving outward. To the naked eye, it's just suddenly blooming, color today where there was none before. But in real time, it's always building, working to show itself, to become. — Sarah Dessen

What are you thinking?
She smiled.
I think you can figure it out. You can read the writing on the wall.
And as she said it, there was writing on the wall. It appeared slowly, one word at a time.

You're
not
the
only
one
falling.

It wrote itself out, in the same curling black script as the rest of the room. Lena's cheeks flushed a little, and she covered her face with her hands. "It's going to be really embarrassing if everything I think starts showing up on the walls."
"You didn't mean to do that?"
"No."
You don't need to be embarrassed, L.
I pulled her hands away.
Because I feel the same way about you. — Kami Garcia

New York City is the most fatally fascinating thing in America. She sits like a great witch at the gate of the country, showing her alluring white face, and hiding her crooked hands and feet under the folds of her wide garments,
constantly enticing thousands from far within, and tempting those who come from across the seas to go no farther. And all these become the victims of her caprice. Some she at once crushes beneath her cruel feet; others she condemns to a fate like that of galley slaves; a few she favors and fondles, riding them high on the bubbles of fortune; then with a sudden breath she blows the bubbles out and laughs mockingly as she watches them fall. — James Weldon Johnson

Officer Downing pulls into the driveway next to Mom's car. Of course she's home. I don't know why I even wasted hope that she wouldn't be. Maybe because I'm eighteen, which means they don't bother calling your parents to the scene. But even if I'm not a victim of the law, I'm a victim of the small-town grapevine. A victim of flashing blue lights, whispered scorn, and heads shaking in disapproval. And, boy, do I feel like a victim, because not only is she home, she's standing on the front porch, arms crossed. Waiting.
Officer Downing opens the back door to the low-budget cop car that smells like vinyl, BO, and humiliation. I step out. He hands me my backpack, which Rachel was so kind to bring out when we dropped Rayna off at Galen's house. She was also kind enough not to kill me for showing up at her house with a cop. — Anna Banks

She shook her head and dropped the focus of the light down to the ground. "Well, thanks for ...
everything. Dinner. And stuff. Showing me the ranch."
Why were things so awkward with him?
"Sure." He put his hands in his pockets. "See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Tomorrow. — Maisey Yates

Noah doesn't hold hands often. In fact, it was one of the few rules I understood, and it's not lost on me how special this moment is. It's like the roses. Noah's showing me his love. — Katie McGarry

On Tuesday, the so-called Islamic State released a slickly produced video showing a Jordanian pilot being burned alive in a steel cage. On Wednesday, the United Nations issued a report detailing various 'mass executions of boys, as well as reports of beheadings, crucifixions of children, and burying children alive' at the hands of the Islamic State. — Jonah Goldberg

A woman stood, smiling with adoration at the baby in her arms. Suddenly, she turned, showing her angelic face. Her eyes were large, beautiful, brown eyes, but terror displayed across her face.
Elizabeth felt a deep, sharp ache penetrate her heart, as she reached deep for air and it came in a low gasp. Her hands flew to her chest. She soon realized the window in front of her was the same one in the vision. — Beth Bares

We laughed, then Keir took my hand. "I've something to show Lara down by the river. We will return."

Marcus put his hands on his hips. "None of that, now. There's a celebration to start, and no time for 'showing' her - "

Keir cut him off, as I blushed. "We'll be back in time."

Marcus gave him an evil smile. "I'll have the first meats waiting."

Keir grimaced, and grabbed my hand. "Come, Lara. — Elizabeth Vaughan

I think there's something so wonderful about being part of the process from the seed of the idea to seeing it come to life on a screen. And to have a hand in that creatively, not just showing up as an actor for hire. — Jennifer Aniston

Septimus had no need to untie Spit Fyre as the dragon had already chewed his way through the rope. They followed Aunt Zelda and Jenna out the side door at the foot of the turret and down to the Palace Gate. Aunt Zelda kept up a brisk pace. Showing a surprising knowledge of the Castle's narrow alleyways and sideslips, she hurtled along. Oncoming pedestrians were taken aback at the sight of the large patchwork tent approaching them at full speed. They flattened themselves against the walls, and, as the tent passed by with the Princess, the ExtraOrdinary Apprentice and a feral-looking boy with bandaged hands - not to mention a dragon - in its wake, people rubbed their eyes in disbelief. — Angie Sage

I couldn't get that same feeling during the day, with my hands in dirty dish water and the hard sun showing up the dirtiness on the roof tops. And after a time, even at night, the feeling of God didn't last. — Frances Farmer

Do you fancy catching a movie at the Sturbridge Theater tonight? That new Robert Pattinson movie is showing," I ask her, the phone cradled against my chest.
"Definitely sign me up for that!" Ari replies, chuckling as I mock scowl. Her easy laugh warms my soul.
"We're in," I tell Gil, arranging to meet him and his date in the diner later.
"So, who is it this time?" Ari asks, resting her chin in her hands. "Anyone we know?"
Considering I can count the girls on one hand who have enjoyed more than one date with Gil, I doubt it'll be someone familiar. "I didn't ask; guess we'll find out soon enough."
"Five bucks says it's a blonde," Ari quips.
"That's one bet I'm not taking," I admit, twirling a lock of her hair around my finger. "Gil's penchant for blondes is world-renowned. — Siobhan Davis

You don't have to be kind. You have to be calm. Once you start showing that people can affect your emotions, then you obviously don't have that much power. If a stewardess can affect your emotional life, then you don't have any power in life and you just showed your whole hand. — Vincent Kartheiser

We visit the Launch Control building, where on one wall of the seventies-style lobby are hung the mission patches of every human spaceflight that has ever been launched from here, 149 to date. Beneath each mission patch is a small plaque showing the launch and landing dates. Two of them - Challenger's STS-51L and Columbia's STS-107 - are missing landing dates, because both of these missions ended in disasters that destroyed the orbiters and killed their crews. The blank spaces on the wall where those landing dates should have been are discolored from the touch of people's hands. This would be unremarkable if this place were a tourist attraction, or regularly open to the public. But with the rare exception of Family Days, this building is open only to people who work here. In other words, it's launch controllers, managers, and engineers who have been touching these empty spaces with their hands, on their way to and from doing their jobs. After — Margaret Lazarus Dean

My hands hold safely to my dreams
Clutching tightly not one has fallen
So many years I've shaped each one
Reflecting my heart showing who I am
Now you're asking me to show
What I'm holding oh so tightly
Can't open my hands can't let go
Does it matter?
Should I show you?
Can't you let me go?

Surrender, surrender you whisper gently
You say I will be free
I know but can't you see?
My dreams are me. My dreams are me

You say you have a plan for me
And that you want the best for my life
Told me the world had yet to see
What you can do with one
That's committed to Your calling
I know of course what I should do
That I can't hold these dreams forever
If I give them now to You
Will You take them away forever?
Or can I dream again? — BarlowGirl

A HOW-TO ON DISAPPEARING

No one understands the way we break.
Not jagged. Not knife sliding between ribs.
Not the spine, cracking.

That would be too easy.

That would be being able to know that
you're broken. That would be X-rays
showing the gaps, the fissures.
Clean breaks are easier to heal.
We do not break cleanly.

We break without breaking.
Not a crack, but a fog.
We dissipate.
Body here one moment and
not here the next.

Hands working one moment and
a dead weight the next.

We watch ourselves turn
colourless. Watch ourselves
become invisible / invincible.

This way, at least the pain is our own.
That's what I wanted all along, I guess. — Darshana Suresh

We live in the shadow of crime with the unspoken understanding that we are victims.. of fear, of violence, of social impotence. A man has risen to show us that the power is, ans always has been, in our hands. We are under siege. He's showing us that we can resist. — Frank Miller

I think when someone blindly projects and it's showing up in the form of envy or hate - and I actually think they're synonymous - that's when I feel the most afraid and disconnected and vulnerable. Like whenever I don't feel safe in my own hands, in terms of my not being tender or merciful with myself, or when we're treating each other that way. — Alanis Morissette

His hand caresses my cheek. "Scarlett, I don't want to lose you by fucking up our friendship. I want you in my life, and if we d this, I will lose you. If that means showing some self-restraint for once in my goddamn life, then I will." Both his hands cup my cheeks. "You make me want to be a better person. This is me being a better person. — Denise Grover Swank

My father had put these things on the table.
I looked at him standing by the sink. He was washing his hands, splashing water on his face. My mamma left us. My brother, too. And now my feckless, reckless uncle had as well. My pa stayed, though. My pa always stayed.
I looked at him. And saw the sweat stains on his shirt. And his big, scarred hands. And his dirty, weary face. I remembered how, lying in my bed a few nights before, I had looked forward to showing him my uncle's money. To telling him I was leaving.
And I was so ashamed. — Jennifer Donnelly

Oh, yuck," said Iko, trying to cover the hole with both hands. "I hate when my wiring is showing." "I know the feeling. — Marissa Meyer

Love by the sweat of thy brow.
Not through whispered words of hollow sound or lofty dreams ne'er substance bound that more than oft do run aground. Nay, love with mighty, blistered hands that turn the soil and carve the land. A bearer of toil and golden band.
Be strong! A founder of the feast!
Protective knight who slays the beast!
For promises and vows aloud are naught but wispy veneer shroud like cobwebs, frail, the airy words and wooing fail. So work, my darling. Toil as proof. Thy loyal heart be drained of youth and yet beat on, incessant sound. Both feet take root within the ground, and service be thy kingly crown.
Love by the sweat of thy brow. — Richelle E. Goodrich

We will never known what opportunities we may have missed in life by showing up tight-fisted. It is hard to receive anything if we don't open our hands to give. — Bruna Martinuzzi

His features, shaping into something resembling dumbfounded astonishment, were cast in a warm glow from a shaded nearby lamp.
He looked earnestly surprised and a little boyish. Smash, smash, smash.
His mesmerizing eyes narrowed as they looked over my now completely covered form, the only skin showing was that of my face and hands. If I'd been thinking clearly and sober I might have felt ridiculous; instead, as I was most definitely not thinking clearly and was most definitely not sober, I was cursing myself for leaving my gloves in Chicago and I was looking for my glasses.
He shifted on his feet, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and studied me with open and growing amusement; Are you going somewhere? — Penny Reid

Crucial to science education is hands-on involvement: showing, not just telling; real experiments and field trips and not just 'virtual reality.' — Martin Rees

She opens the book. Each sheet has one or two antique photographs stuck with corner tabs. The images are neither black and white nor gray, but hold that brownish gold of time and exposure to air.

"This man is your great grandfather. Look at that face, Pedro. It is a mean mean face." He's standing in front of a wood pile, holding an axe. "I think he was only a teenager there, a long time before he met my mother. But look how handsome he was. And how mean."

It's funny the way she smiles when she talks about him. Saying he's mean has a perverse joy for her, as if she can stick her tongue out at him and his hands are tied so he can't slap her for doing it. She's right, though. There's no lingering smile, no potential for mirth in the burlap of his skin. I notice snow on the ground at his feet, but he's wearing a thin, unbuttoned shirt, showing no sign of cold. — Laurie Perez

All those prayers said back in high school, the teenager I was having sex without protection, my period late, tears taking the place of breath, moments of high drama, saying, Please God Please God let me not be pregnant let my period come so I can finish high school oh please just this once and I will start showing up on time and doing my homework if you just this once have mercy God O God take pity and let my period come. Sitting on the edge of my bed, crying into my hands, so certain of my ability to bear children that everything in me played with it like fire, then prayed for its prevention. It's possible that I repeated it once too often, my anti-pregnancy chant, and the words seeped into the fabric of my body, making it into a shield. — Sonja Livingston