Heart Of Palm Quotes & Sayings

I had crossed the yard to him slowly, watching him draw closer, baffled by the way my heart was skittering around my chest. Then he'd picked me up and spun me in a circle, and I'd clung to him, breathing in his sweet, familiar smell, shocked by how much I'd missed him. Dimly, I'd been aware that I still had a shard of the blue cup in my hand, that it was digging into my palm, but I didn't want to let go.
When he finally set me down and ambled off to the kitchen to find his lunch, I stood there, my palm dripping blood, my head still spinning, knowing that everything had changed.
Ana Kuya had scoled me for getting blood on the clean kitchen floor. She'd bandaged my hand and told me it would heal. But I knew it would just go on hurting.
In the creaking silence of the cell, Mal kissed the scar on my palm, the wound made so long ago by the edge of that broken cup, a fragile thing I'd thought beyond repair. — Leigh Bardugo

Heart of my heart, that's who you are, Adria Morgan. Chosen and forever." Picking her hand off his cheek, he pressed a lingering kiss to the palm before placing it over the strong, steady rhythm of that very organ. "Wolf and man, you own every part of me. — Nalini Singh

A demon's power comes from here," he said, placing his fingers on my temple. "Here." He moved his hand and placed his palm on my belly. "And here." His hand covered my heart, with way too much emphasis on my breast. I sucked in my breath on a gasp, causing my bosom to press into his hand even more. My eyes came up and locked with his.
"I think this is the part that stopped you from pushing me away," he said, referring to my heart — L.J. Kentowski

I don't know a lot about the human body, but I would be willing to bet there's a nerve that runs directly from the palm of the hand, straight to the heart. — Colleen Hoover

I almost forgot," said Red. His voice sounded very strange, as if from a long, long distance. He reached into his pocket. "I have something for you."
He put it into my hand. A round, shiny, perfect apple, green as new grass with a faint blush of rosy pink. And now his eyes had changed so that I saw what lay there, hidden deep, so deep only the bravest or most foolhardy would seek to find it.
He has always understood me better, without words. So I laid my hand on my heart, held it there for a moment, and then moved it over and touched my palm against his breast. My heart. Your heart. — Juliet Marillier

The sloped desert plain that lay between us and the city was like a palm stretched out for a fortuneteller to read, with its mounds and hillocks, its life lines and heart lines of dry stream beds. — Barbara Kingsolver

Why were we tortured? We were in love and life was a fast current swarming around our ankles, threatening to topple us into the wet part of the planet. It was intense, that's why we were tortured. It was enormous and exploding like palm tree. Iris was my Yuri-G, my Delilah, my Stella Marie. Strong dark women you had to love with a strong dark heart that throbbed in gorgeous pain because love is terrible. I mean, ultimately. It would go away like a needle lifting from the vinyl at the end of the song, we knew this. The music would cease, one of us would die or else we'd just break up, and this drove us to drink from each other like two twelve-year-olds sneaking vodka from the liquor cabinet, trying to get it all down, trying to get as fucked up as possible before we got caught. — Michelle Tea

My heart beats for him.
The man who shares my secret. The man who holds my life in the palm of his hands. Sometimes, I think I could love him. But most of the time, I just hate him. For making me weak. For tempting me to stay. For wondering when he'll finally make good and kill me too.
I don't know how it's possible to have feelings that are such polar opposites. I want to slap him. I want to scream in his face and force him to acknowledge me. His cavalier attitude towards me is worse than any of the pain Blaine ever inflicted on me. I'm not even worth his attention. A moment of his time. And yet, when he walks into the room, everything else ceases to exist. — A. Zavarelli

When you fall in love, your heart will pound so much you won't be able to throw a mouse let alone a cow pat.
I don't think I could throw a mouse now. I dislike the idea of scrabbling little feet in my palm, unless they are yours, of course. — Eloisa James

Before she could think better of it, she grabbed Darling's arm as he went for Giran again. He turned around, his hand raised to strike her, too. Just as she thought he'd put her through the wall behind her, he caught himself. His breathing ragged, he stared at her and lowered his hand. The agony on his beautiful face hit her like a blow. He cupped her head in the palm of his hand, then gently pulled her into his arms. She hugged him close as his heart pounded fiercely against her breasts. He continued to cradle her head and hold on to her like she was his lifeline. Maris approached them slowly. "Are you better?" he whispered to Darling. His eyes started jerking. "No. I didn't get a chance to kill the bastard." He turned in Giran's direction. "No one insults my lady. No one." Nykyrian — Sherrilyn Kenyon

There is a sort of natural instinct of human dignity in the heart of man which steels his very nerves not to bend beneath the heavy blows of a great adversity. The palm-tree grows best beneath a ponderous weight, even so the character of man. There is no merit in it, it is a law of psychology. The petty pangs of small daily cares have often bent the character of men, but great misfortunes seldom. There is less danger in this than in great good luck. — Lajos Kossuth

The human heart is like india-rubber; a little swells it, but a great deal will not burst it. If "little more than nothing will disturb it, little less than all things will suffice" to break it. As in the outer members of our frame, there is a vital power inherent in itself that strengthens it against external violence. Every blow that shakes it will serve to harden it against a future stroke; as constant labour thickens the skin of the hand, and strengthens its muscles instead of wasting them away: so that a day of arduous toil, that might excoriate a lady's palm, would make no sensible impression on that of a hardy ploughman. — Emily Bronte

You don't want me to feel obligated? Well, I'm sorry, Lily. I am here
because I feel obligated." He brought her hand to his chest, pressing her
palm flat against his rapidly thumping pulse. "I'm obligated by my heart. It's
decided you're essential to my existence, you see. And it's threatening to go out on labor strike if I don't make you mine this very day. So yes. I am here on bended knee, acting from a deep, undeniable sense of obligation. I am, quite simply, yours." He swallowed hard. "If you'll have me. — Tessa Dare

If he wasn't already holding my heart in the palm of his hand, I would have taken it out and given it to him right then. — Myra McEntire

Emerson, you just shared your deepest secret with me. I value that. Don't make light of it.
If he wasn't already holding my heart in the palm of his hand, I would have taken it out and given it to him. — Myra McEntire

I never thought I'd find someone like you. Someone who'd put up with me having a son and wanting to be part of both our lives. Why do you do it, Becca?" I ask, my heart pounding against my chest.
"Because, Josh. You and Tommy ... " She places my hand over her heart. " ... you own me in here." And even as I feel her heart beat against my palm, I wonder if she knows that she just made mine stop. — Jay McLean

The boy bled for you - a whole body's worth of blood. There's no love greater than that. He belongs to you alone." His words are surprisingly beautiful and kind, and somewhere in my heart, I know he's right. But how long will I have to wait for Jeb to have the courage to admit it to himself? Morpheus touches the scars on my palm. "But let us not forget that you bled for me. So to whom do you belong, Alyssa? — A.G. Howard

Rowena Clark and I had met on the first day of our mixed media class. I'd sat down at her table and said, "Mind if I join you? Figure the best way to learn about art is to sit with a masterpiece." Maybe I was in love, but I was still Adrian Ivashkov.
Rowena had fixed me with a flat look. "Let's get one thing straight. I can see through crap a mile away, and I like girls, not guys, so if you can't handle me telling you what's what, then you'd better take your one-liners and hair gel somewhere else. I don't go to this school to put up with pretty boys like you. I'm here to face dubious employment options with a painting degree and then go get a Guinness after class."
I'd scooted my chair closer to the table. "You and I are going to get along just fine. — Richelle Mead

It's been fifteen years, Imi. You don't know anything about the person I've become. How can you say we're anything to each other?"
I put my hand on his chest, ignoring the feel of his ribs beneath his skin. I pressed my palm over his heart. Thud. Thud. Thud.
"I know who you are in here. I trusted the eighteen-year-old boy who made sure I was fed. Who protected me. Who loved me. And I trust the man he became. Sure, people can change, but I see who you are. — A Meredith Walters

Turn to me with all your heart. Do not refuse me because I am dark and shadowed. The fire of the sun has altered me. The seas have encompassed me. The earth has been corrupted because of my work. Night fell over the earth when I sank into the miry deep, and my substance was hidden." The Moon Queen held a star in one outstretched palm. "From the depths of the water I cried out to you, and from the depths of the earth I will call to those who pass by me," I continued. "Watch for me. See me. And if you find another who is like me, I will give him the morning star. — Deborah Harkness

Time seemed to stop; the world around them stilled. There was only her. His thumb caressed at her lips, the lips he wanted to kiss.
Katianna rolled her face in his palm - a caressing nuzzle and he stilled, his breath froze in his chest.
A response. A submissive one at that. His heart, stilled fractured by that single nuance, but his loins burst with a wave of warmth.
A response - it had been a response. Oh fuck he had to kiss her. His whole body was screaming for her now. — Talon P.S.

I'm going to make it so hard for you to forget this first kiss that you don't want anyone else kissing you ever again. When the guy you fall in love with kisses you - it better put this kiss to shame - if it doesn't, then he isn't the right guy. Because I'm going to do a damn good job, and I want the guy that earns you, that takes that heart of yours and holds it in the palm of his hands ... I want that guy to be able to make you feel things I'll just be tapping into. Do you understand, Kiersten? — Rachel Van Dyken

Tomorrow the rush of men, all working for a living, would drown him; but now, at this moment, in this soft green twilight, this soft green Sunday evening, when the heart of the world seemed to lie beating in the palm of his hand, he sat in that huge house upstairs terrified that he would never live. — Andrew Holleran

THE WOOKIEE SIGHED, a low rumble, and gazed at the medal in his palm. On the humans it looked substantial and solid, fit to be worn around the neck. In his hand the scale was altered, and if he brought his fingers together he could conceal it entirely. A pretty thing, hastily engraved in a stylized flower meant perhaps to recall the emblem of the Republic. At its heart a rising sun, halfway above the horizon, both symbolized the dawn of a new hope in the wake of this victory over the Galactic Empire and recalled the Death Star's destruction. — Greg Rucka

I remembered looking down into her face, her eyes bright with new adventure and a little piece of my heart fell into her hands. My heart tumbled in pieces at her feet as she chipped away at it with her wondrous ways, and it didn't form a whole again until half a year had passed and the end product was a living, beating organ in the palm of her hands. — Fisher Amelie

She twisted a piece of his T-shirt, then let it go and laid her palm flat against his chest, right over his heart, and he could suddenly feel it again: the steady thump of it drowning out all his other thoughts. It was more drumbeat than countdown, more metronome than ticking clock, and he felt himself carried forward with each muffled beat, as if hope were a rhythm, a song he'd only just discovered. — Jennifer E. Smith

I think that to have known one good, old man-one man, who, through the chances and mischances of a long life, has carried his heart in his hand, like a palm-branch, waving all discords into peace-helps our faith in God, in ourselves, and in each other more than many sermons — George William Curtis

Would you like to?" he says. His voice is hardly audible above the wind
so low it's barely a whisper.
"Would I like to what?" My heart is roaring, rushing in my ears, and though
there are still several inches between his hand and mine, there's a zipping,
humming energy that connects us, and from the heat flooding my body you
would think we were pressed together, palm to palm, face to face.
"Dance," he says, at the same time closing those last few inches and finding
my hand and pulling me closer, and at that second the song hits a high note and I
confuse the two impressions, of his hand and the soaring, the lifting of the music.
We dance. — Lauren Oliver

The desert came into view ... sand and palm trees, a way of life that revolved around human beings without possessions or skills, who had to rely on their imaginations to contrive a way of making their hearts beat faster or even to keep them at a normal pace; to search unaided for a hidden gleam of light, and to live with two seasons a year instead of four. — Hanan Al-Shaykh

Patch reached for my hand and pushed my dad's ring off the tip of his finger and into my palm, curling my fingers around it. He kissed my knuckles. "I was going to give this back earlier, but it wasn't finished."
I opened my palm and held the ring up. The same heart was engraved on the underside, but now there were two names carved on either side of it: NORA and JEV.
I looked up. "Jev? That's your real name?"
"Nobody's called me that in a long time. — Becca Fitzpatrick

He held my gaze for a long moment. I realized that the fire was very warm, and that I was standing very close to a very handsome gentleman who held my hand in his. Philip looked down. "You brave girl," he murmured, running a light finger along my palm. It was so soft a touch that it did not hurt at all. But it did send a wave of feeling through my hand, up my arm, all the way to my heart. I had never experienced such a sensation before, and I found it completely unnerving. — Julianne Donaldson

He gently covered her hand with his, wishing he could feel her soft skin through the rough leather of his work gloves. He dragged her fingers down from his mouth and cradled them against his chest. His gaze never left her face. Her breath caught in her throat, but she didn't look away. Fingers splayed, her palm pressed against the thin cotton of his shirt, directly over his heart. In that moment, he knew she belonged to him. — Karen Witemeyer

Another pair of hands joined us, but I was so completely submerged into myself that I might as well have closed my eyes and disappeared in the dark. In here, nothing could touch me. In here, Henry was everywhere. In here, it was winter again, and we curled up together underneath the down comforter in the Underworld as the hours passed by. His chest was warm under my palm, and his heart beat against my fingers, steady and eternal. In here, no one died. — Aimee Carter

It is our custom
to consume
the person we love.
Taboo flesh: swollen
genitalia nipples
the scrotum the vulva
the soles of the feet
the palm of the hand
heart and liver taste best.
Cannibalism is blessed.

I'll wear your jawbone
round my neck
listen to your vertebrae
bone tapping bone in my wrists.
I'll string your fingers round my waist -
what a rigorous embrace.
Over my heart I'll wear
a brooch with a lock of hair.
Nights I'll sleep cradling
your skull sharpening
my teeth on your toothless grin.

Sundays there's Mass and communion
and I'll put your relics to rest. — Gloria E. Anzaldua

There have been a dozen times in the past when I should have liked a particular gentleman. When it would have been convenient, and appropriate, and easy. But no, I had to wait for someone special. Someone who would make my heart feel as if it's been trampled by elephants, thrown into the Amazon, and eaten by piranhas."
Amelia smiled at her compassionately. Her gloved hand slipped over Beatrix's. "Darling Bea. Would it console you to hear that such feelings of infatuation are perfectly ordinary?"
Beatrix turned her palm upward, returning the clasp of her sister's hand. Since their mother had died when Bea was twelve, Amelia had been a source of endless love and patience. "Is it infatuation?" she heard herself asking softly. "Because it feels much worse than that. Like a fatal disease."
"I don't know, dear. It's difficult to tell the difference between love and infatuation. Time will reveal it, eventually. — Lisa Kleypas

Don't you see?" she cried. "I cannot have been wrong that you don't have a heart."
He came toward her swiftly, grasped her wrist, and flattened her hand to his chest. Through his ribs, his heartbeats beneath her palm were fast and hard. "You are denying me this?" he said close to her brow, the depth of his voice coating her rawness. "Because it has been like this since you walked through the door of that inn four days ago. It was like this when you stood across your parlor in London refusing me. And in Edinburgh in April. And each time I have seen you for longer than I can say."
"Stop. Do not say this."
"I don't need to kiss you to feel this," he said. "You have been turning me inside out for years. — Katharine Ashe

Winter denial: therein lay the key to California Schadenfreude
the secret joy that the rest of the country feels at the misfortune of California. The country said: "Look at them, with their fitness and their tans, their beaches and their movie stars, their Silicon Valley and silicone breasts, their orange bridge and their palm trees. God, I hate those smug, sunshiny bastards!" Because if you're up to your navel in a snowdrift in Ohio, nothing warms your heart like the sight of California on fire. If you're shoveling silt out of your basement in the Fargo flood zone, nothing brightens your day like watching a Malibu mansion tumbling down a cliff into the sea. And if a tornado just peppered the land around your Oklahoma town with random trailer trash and redneck nuggets, then you can find a quantum of solace in the fact that the earth actually opened up in the San Fernando Valley and swallowed a whole caravan of commuting SUVs. — Christopher Moore

Murmuring her name, he brought her hand to his face and nuzzled ardently into her palm, his lips brushing the warm circlet of her gold wedding band. "My love is upon you," he whispered... and she knew then that she had won. This imperfect, extraordinary, passionate man was hers, his heart given over completely to her safekeeping. It was a trust she would never betray. — Lisa Kleypas

I doubt he'd ever in his life lain down with anyone for whom he had not felt some kind of fondness. He needed love as a palm tree needs water, all his life long: from armies, from cities, from conquered enemies, nothing was enough. It laid him open to false friends, as anyone will tell you. Well, for all that, no man is made a god when he is dead and can do no harm, without love. He needed love and never forgave its betrayal, which he had no understanding of. For he himself, if it was given him with a whole heart, never misused it, nor despised the giver. He took it gratefully, and felt bound by it. — Mary Renault

I somewhat understand now why He favored all of you so much. And why one of us had been jealous, led the quarter of the others, and had been casted down. There's a little of Him in all of you," Sigrid uttered after a while, and then she rested her palm on Ryan's chest. "In here, He gave all of you not only the power to choose but the authority to perceive things properly - with heart. — Veronica Mist

Oh, y'know, magic stuff is full of weird vibrations!" said Dane. "Makes your palm sweat, gives you that pins and needles sensation when you hold it! Maybe something running up your arm." He paused. "Something that isn't a spider or a bug. Something running up your arm that's an invisible sensation. But not an invisible spider. Like an invisible feeling that's pins and needly. Maybe more needles than pins."
"Are you sure that's not a heart attack?" said Jaya. — Dennis Liggio

Covering up with one of his wings, I surround myself with the scent of licorice and honey. "You want to hold me while I sleep. You want to watch my face as I dream like you never have - from the outside."
He traces my eye markings with an elegant fingertip. "That will be my memory to cling to, until you're mine forever at last, both in waking hours and sleep. The question is, do you trust me enough to give me that? To rest in my arms tonight?"
I hold his soft palm against my cheek. "Will you sing me my lullaby?"
He weaves his fingers through my hair and presses my forehead to his. "Forever and always," he whispers.
As he hums the tune that has been inside my mind and heart all my life, I close the waterfall canopy, cocooning us within our own frozen pocket of time. — A.G. Howard

If he slept, he dreamt of the woman with the icy white irises. She exploded planes, swallowed oceans and crumpled skies
in her palm in his dreams. Sometimes she and the green-eyed girl were one. At other times, the green-eyed girl was alone, a gaping hole where her heart should have been. At all times he could hear the woman's cold, low laughter. It swept across his consciousness like a hailstorm.
When he woke up, he thought he was going mad. — Sukanya Venkatraghavan

Medical research has shown that when an 8 week old human foetus is pricked in the palm of his hand by a needle, he opens his mouth and pulls his hand away. There is also an increase in heart rate as a result. This shows that an 8 week old foetus can feel pain — Mark Volman

Within this raindrop there must be a heart- a heart that weeps the pain of longing. I have her in my palm where the silvery rays of the morn reflect the beauty of the whole cosmos and I kiss her with all my yearning! — Preeth Nambiar

His Malina was a mystery, a lovely and welcome mystery. He couldn't resist smoothing his palm over her silky hair. Stroking her like that, over and over again filled him with peace. Concerns about his mill and Steafan and all that Wilhelm might expect from him floated away on a cloud of contentment. Until he felt warm wetness on his skin where her face nestled. "Are ye weeping?" "No," she said, but her voice caught on a sob. "There," he said, "now we have both told a lie to the other. We are even." Whatever had her distraught, her heart wasn't so heavy that she couldn't give a small chuckle. "Maybe I'm crying just a little," she said. "It's fine, though. Don't worry. Get some sleep." "I canna. My da told me a good husband doesna lay his head down for the night if his household isna in order and his wife isna content." "He sounds like a very responsible man. Like father, like son." No one had given him as much to feel proud over as this woman. — Jessi Gage

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

I believe my strength has something to do with memory, with that concept of fluid time. For while I recall with clarity the terror of abuse, I also recall the green and lovely dream of childhood, the moist membrane of a leaf against my nose, the toads that peeled a golden pool in the palm of my hand. Pleasures, pleasures, the recollections of which have injected me with a firm and unshakable faith. I believe Dostoevski when he wrote, "If one had only one good memory left in one's heart, even that may be the means of saving us." I have gone by memory. — Lauren Slater

All authors know that any book is a casting of runes, a reading of cards, a map of the palm and heart. We make up the ocean - then fall in. But we also write the life raft. — Erica Jong

We didn't speak anymore, then, as the melting boundaries of our bodies disappeared. It was slow, dreamy and peaceful, his body and mine as much as mine was his, so that I curled my foot round his leg and felt both smooth sole and hairy shin, felt callused palm and tender flesh, was knife and sheath together, the rhythm of our movement that of one heart beating. The — Diana Gabaldon

It is the nature of the strong heart, that like the palm tree it strives ever upwards when it is most burdened. — Philip Sidney

Faith
I whisper your name like a prayer - with all the hope of heaven.
I trace the lines of your palm and draw a map to salvation.
I hear the knock of your heart and I answer it like my calling. — Lang Leav

They say that true love always brings with it great and generous acts. Sometimes, amazing things happen to people and nobody knows about it. Nobody knows or cares. Someday many years from now in the faraway future, I will look back and say, "That year when I was in seventh grade, I knew a boy named Henderson Elliot, and what he did for me was extraordinary and who he was and how he won my heart was nothing short of incredible."
Some people in peril don't get saved, like Marty Hoey or my mom, and some people in peril do get saved, like me. Maybe it was because Henderson bought a chunk of a falling star, a gold-flecked quiet and ever-hopeful star. I hold it now tightly in my palm. — Phoebe Stone

Love is just like magic. It takes special care to discover, but once you have it in the palm of your hand, it spreads throughout your heart and soul. When you find love, you have to hold on to it. You have to promise to never let it go. — Rachel Van Dyken

It bothered me to hear other people call her beautiful, say they loved her body. My heart would race and involuntarily my teeth began their grinding motion behind the smile I'd stretch across my face to hide my jealousy and indignation, imagining her nipple between my lips, a quick lick, the back of her neck in the palm of my hand, my mouth on hers, she kissing me with such nuance I'd never catch my breath. Who did she remind me of? On what molecular level did Jane set off that deep intracellular chime and clanging that kept me in this persistent shivery state, and ongoing electrocution? — Laurie Weeks

I wonder
from these thousand of "me's",
which one am I?
Listen to my cry, do not drown my voice
I am completely filled with the thought of you.
Don't lay broken glass on my path
I will crush it into dust.
I am nothing, just a mirror in the palm of your hand,
reflecting your kindness, your sadness, your anger.
If you were a blade of grass or a tiny flower
I will pitch my tent in your shadow.
Only your presence revives my withered heart.
You are the candle that lights the whole world
and I am an empty vessel for your light.
Rumi - "Hidden Music — Rumi

What are you looking at?"
"The woman I love." With all his heart and soul.
Reese looked over her shoulder. "Where? I don't see any one." Then she laughed, hitting the glass table with the palm of her hand. — Erin McCarthy

Tears swam in her sky blue eyes and his heart squeezed down like a vise. It took every ounce of discipline he possessed not to press his palm over his chest.
"Damn it," he swore at her between clenched teeth. "Stop with the tears." She had to stop. He felt a little desperate.

-Airiana & Maxim — Christine Feehan

Cricket tells a joke and turns to see if I'm laughing, if I think he's funny, and I want him to know that I do think he's funny, and I want him to know that I'm glad he's my friend, and I want him to know that he has the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known. And I want to press my palm against his chest to feel it beat, to prove he's really here. — Stephanie Perkins

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

He will give you strength for every battle, wisdom for every decision, peace that passes understanding. God will vindicate you for the wrongs that have been done. He will pay you back for unfair situations. He promised He will not only bring your dreams to pass but He will give you even the secret desires of your heart. Dare to trust Him. Come back to that place of peace. Quit being worried, stressed out, wondering if it will happen. God has you in the palm of His hand. He has never once failed before, and the good news is He is not about to start now. — Joel Osteen

At the heart of the cyclone
tearing the sky
And flinging the clouds
and the towers by
Is a place of central calm;
So here in the roar of mortal things,
I have a place where my spirit sings,
In the hollow of God's palm. — Edwin Markham

My dear young friends, I want to invite you to "dare to love". Do not desire anything less for your life than a love that is strong and beautiful and that is capable of making the whole of your existence a joyful undertaking of giving yourselves as a gift to God and your brothers and sisters, in imitation of the One who vanquished hatred and death for ever through love (cf. Rev 5:13).
Love is the only force capable of changing the heart of the human person and of all humanity, by making fruitful the relations between men and women, between rich and poor, between cultures and civilizations. (Message for the 22nd World Youth Day: Palm Sunday, 1 April 2007) — Pope Benedict XVI

All at once it was just too much, and Harvey felt something about to snap. He drew back into the shadowy side of the doorway, out of site. Then he slid down the wall to the ground and put his palm over his mouth to hold in his breath and his feelings both. He'd forced in more air then he could hold, and his lungs were burning. More importantly, his heart hurt ... He wished he hadn't eavesdropped. — Yukako Kabei

Anna gave Charles a shy kiss on the cheek and strolled out of the room without a backward glance. Until she reached the doorway, and then, in full view of the curious who'd had the courage or discourtesy to linger in the auditorium after he'd dismissed them, she kissed her palm and blew it to him.
And despite ... or because of their audience, he caught it in one hand, and pulled the hand to his heart. Her smile dropped away, and the expression in her eyes would feed him for a week. And the expressions on the faces of the wolves who knew Charles, or knew his reputation, would make him laugh as soon as no one was watching. — Patricia Briggs

On summer evenings, when every flower, and tree, and bird, might have better addressed my soft young heart, I have in my day been caught in the palm of a female hand by the crown, have been violently scrubbed from the neck to the roots of the hair as a purification for the Temple, and have then been carried off highly charged with saponaceous electricity, to be steamed like a potato in the unventilated breath of the powerful Boanerges Boiler and his congregation, until what small mind I had, was quite steamed out of me — Charles Dickens

I don't smoke but I keep a match box in my pocket, when my heart slips towards sin, I burn the matchstick and heat my palm with it, then say to myself, "Ali you can't even bear this heat, how would you bear the unbearable heat of hellfire?" — Muhammad Ali

He skidded to a dead halt and stared hard at Austin. The boy's chin carried so many nicks from his first shave that it was a wonder he hadn't bled to death. He was a year older than Houston had been when he'd last stood on a battlefield. Sweet Lord, Houston had never had the opportunity to shave his whole face; he'd never flirted with girls, wooed women, or danced through the night. He'd never loved.
Not until Amelia.
And he'd given her up because he'd thought it was best for her. Because he had nothing to offer her but a one-roomed log cabin, a few horses, a dream so small that it wouldn't cover the palm of her hand.
And his heart. His wounded heart. — Lorraine Heath

Reyes, how do you not just fly around all the time, checking shit out?"
He laid his head against the headboard and laughed. "I do sometimes, but my life is on this plane." He brushed his fingertips over my palm again, studying me. "I love every inch of you."
My heart melted, and I hoped it hadn't dematerialized and rematerialized somewhere else. That couldn't be good. I turned in to him. "I love all your inches, too. — Darynda Jones

Taking my hand, he rests it over his T-shirt, over his heart. You hold this in the palm of your hand. You are the only woman who has ever had it, and ever will. You own me, Tru. — Samantha Towle

He turned back to Lara, his alert gaze raking over her tearful face. Somehow the solid reality of his presence eased her panic. He folded her in his arms, anchoring her against his chest, murmuring quietly into her hair.
Sniffling, Lara reached inside his waistcoat until her palm rested over the steady beat of his heart. The sensation of his warm breath sinking down to her scalp me her quiver. It was so terribly intimate, crying in his arms ... even more personal than making love. But he had never felt so much like a husband to her as he did in this moment. Quieting, she inhaled his familiar scent and let out a shaky sigh. — Lisa Kleypas

I don't know how it happens. We move our faces at the same time, and then our lips are touching. I've lost my worries. Traded them in for the sun and the taste of his tongue and the thought that in sixty years we'll be ashes - we'll be tossed into the air and after a moment of weightlessness we'll be everywhere and nowhere. But for now there's quick breathing and the feeling like he has my heart in his palm as it beats outside my chest. — Lauren DeStefano

I miss my mother."
Mrs. Norton touched Trudy's shoulder in silent sympathy.
"She never had a chance to see any of her daughters get married."
Trudy laid the veil on the bed.
"It's hard to completely enjoy your wedding day when your mother isn't with you."
"Your mother did see your sisters wed and I'm sure she'll be with you today."
Trudy looked at the woman, astonished she hadn't received a more pious answer from a minister's wife.
She pointed a finger upward. "I know she's in heaven."
Mrs. Norton gently folded Trudy's hand until her palm rested on her chest, "In heaven and in your heart, love never fails, my dear Ms. Bower. I know it's not the same as feeling your mother's arms around you on such a special day, nevertheless, I'm sure she's sending you plenty of love. — Debra Holland

Genius in the poet, like the nomad of Arabia, ever a wanderer, still ever makes a home where the well or the palm-tree invites it to pitch the tent. Perpetually passing out of himself and his own positive circumstantial condition of being into other hearts and into other conditions, the poet obtains his knowledge of human life by transporting his own life into the lives of others. — Edward Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton

Shaw grinned again, wishing mightily that he and she were alone by the fire. "I never claimed to be much of a gentleman. But whether you tote about a parasol or not, you are every inch a lady. Quite possibly the finest I've ever met."
"Goodness. If you continue saying such things, I'll begin to think you're smitten with me."
"I'd describe it more as being clubbed into submission," he murmured, aware both that her palm had come to rest just over his heart, and that his men and the Mayfair mob across the fire pit could see it. "But yes, I am rather smitten with you. — Suzanne Enoch

He picked up one of her hands, turned it over, and kissed her palm again before placing it against his chest. Her heart melted in response, and her knees threatened to follow. — Debra Holland

You have no reason to be sorry for anything, ma petite."
Her clenched fist lay over his heart, the three diamonds in her palm. "You think I can't read your body? Feel the heaviness in your mind as you try to shield me? I can't change who I am, not even for you. I know I'm failing you, causing you discomfort."
A slow smile curved his mouth. Discomfort. Now,there was a word for it. His hand crushed her hair, ran it through his fingers. "I have never asked you to change, nor would I want you to. You seem to forget that I know you better than anyone. I can handle you."
She turned her head so that he could see the silver stars flashing in her blue eyes, a smoldering warning. "You are so arrogant,Gregori, it makes me want to throw things.Do you hear yourself? Handle me? Ha! I try to say I'm sorry for failing you, and you act the lord of the manor. Being born centuries ago when women were chattel does not give you an excuse. — Christine Feehan

It was I who was conquered. In just seven nights, that fledgling goddess not only discovered that I had a heart, but she stole it forever, then cradled it in the palm of her hand. — Celeste Bradley

After soft kisses, they pressed their hands together palm to palm. The tingling scattered all over Livia's body, warming her.
"Do you feel that?" she whispered with a smile.
His lips moved in his silent count. Blake wrapped his fingers around her hand. She copied the movement. Their hands together now resembled a heart-not a cartoon rendering of the shape, but a real human heart.
He touched her lips with his and murmured, "I've been feeling it since you first smiled at me. — Debra Anastasia

That's when we lean on God and constantly seek his face and heart and thoughts, because there's no way we can ever swim in the deepest part of the ocean unless we know the one who holds the seas in the palm of his hand. — Louie Giglio

It's just you now."
"Just you." Tom closed his eyes for just a second, soothed by the warm rub of Prophet's palm, then opened them. "I love you. Who the fuck else could compete?"
Prophet pulled back for a second. Repeated, "Who the fuck else could compete?" with his hand on Tom's heart. — S.E. Jakes

He wrapped his hand around hers, pressed a kiss to the heart of her palm, and held her gaze. "I've got a one-room cabin, a few horses, and a dream that's so small it won't even cover your palm. But it sure seems a lot bigger when you're beside me."
The moonlight streaming through the window shimmered off the tears trailing along her cheeks. "I've always wanted a dream that I could hold in the palm of my hand," she said quietly.
-Houston and Amelia — Lorraine Heath

Love Came ...
and became like blood in my body.
It rushed through my veins and
encircled my Heart.
Everywhere I looked,
I saw One Thing ...
Love's Name written
on my limbs,
on my left palm,
on my forehead,
on the back of my neck,
on my right big toe ...
Oh, my friend,
all that you see of me
is just a shell,
and the rest belongs to Love. — Rumi

Even now, you think only in terms of the game. You are well chosen, little bird. Or are you a stoat?" Madame Spetuna bent forward, looking even harder at Sophronia's palms. She was close enough for Sophronia to feel the woman's breath on her skin. "Give your heart wisely." She paused a long time over one particular wrinkle. "Oh, child, you will end the world as we know it." Madame Spetuna swallowed and then turned Sophronia's hands over and placed them, palm down, on the table. She leaned forward, pressing them into the tablecloth as though she might rub out what she had seen. — Gail Carriger

Literature, real literature, must not be gulped down like some potion which may be good for the heart or good for the brain - the brain, that stomach of the soul. Literature must be taken and broken to bits, pulled apart, squashed - then its lovely reek will be smelt in the hollow of the palm, it will be munched and rolled upon the tongue with relish; then, and only then, its rare flavor will be appreciated at its true worth and the broken and crushed parts will again come together in your mind and disclose the beauty of a unity to which you have contributed something of your own blood. — Vladimir Nabokov

You're my lifeline, he whispers and kisses my knuckles before pressing my palm against his. With his eyes wide and full of fear, he gently tugs my hand and places it on his chest over his heart- in the forbidden zone. His breathing quickens, his heart is beating a frantic pounding tattoo beneath my fingers. He doesn't take his eyes off mine; his jaw tense, his teeth clenched.
I gasp. Oh my Fifty! He's letting me touch him. And it's like all the air in my lungs has vaporized- gone. — E.L. James

If we are pack, then conquest is our sustenance, sister.
He plunged his hand into the coywolv's frame. With a wet tearing, the heart came out, glistening and full of blood, veins and arteries torn. The muscle of life. Tool held it out to her. "Our enemies give us strength." Blood ran from his fist. Mahlia saw the challenge in the half-man's eye.
She limped over to the battle-scarred monster and held out her hand. The heart was surprisingly heavy as Tool poured it into her palm. She lifted the muscle to her lips and bit deep.
Blood ran down her chin. — Paolo Bacigalupi

Payne put her palm up to her pounding heart. "I ... don't understand why you would ... do this?"
He glanced over his shoulder, staring at the human she loved. "You're my sister. And he's what you want." He shrugged. "And ... well, I fell in love with a human. I fell in love with my Jane within an hour of meeting her - and ... yeah. I've got nothing without her. If what you feel for Manello is even
half what I have for my shellan, your life is never going to be complete without him - — J.R. Ward

Pulling my hand away, he rose, slanting his head to kiss me deeply as he pushed me onto my back, with his weight draped over me. "I've never had anything that was my own," he said against my mouth. "Nothing that was ever for just me and no one else. I've never been anyone's first." He kissed me and then lifted his head. I stared into his eyes. "I've never been anyone's only."
That made my heart ache for him as I raised my hand, pressing my palm against his cheek. "You're my first," I whispered. "You're ... you're my only."
His lips parted. "You can't say that and not mean it."
I held his gaze as my chest swelled. "I mean it."
He smoothed his thumb over my lip. "I really am a lucky son of a bitch. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

I was looking through half-open eyes at the sky, like the first man, and thinking about how - there you are - my uncle had died, about how they would now be burying him, about how I would never meet him. I stood petrified, thinking that one day I too would die. At the same time I was horror-stricken to realize that my mother would also die. All of this came rushing upon me in a flash of a peculiar violet color, in a twinkling, and the sudden activity in my intestines and in my heart told me that what had seemed at first just a foreboding was indeed the truth. This experience made me realize, without any circumlocution, that I would die one day, and so would my mother, and my sister Anna. I couldn't imagine how one day my hand would die, how my eyes would die. Looking over my hand, I caught this thought on my palm, connected to my body, indivisible from it. — Danilo Kis

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforth in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two. — Elizabeth Barrett Browning

In time I could move, though my body wasn't thrilled about it. I moved from the floor to the sofa I had fallen off of, which was all the progress I was going to demand from myself right then. Karish was much more ambitious, moving from the floor by the table to the sofa. He sat beside me and without the slightest hesitation or diffidence wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, and I bonelessly complied. Pain eased, muscles loosened, and the beating of his heart helped to drive disturbing images from my mind. For the moment not giving a damn about how it looked or whether it was a bad idea, I curled around him and flattened my palm against his chest so I could feel the blood pulsing around him. — Moira J. Moore

I want to tell you something." He placed her palm against her cheek, rough with stubble. "In my life, I've been with women I didn't care about and women I cared a great deal about. But I've never been with a woman who makes me feel the way you do." He lowered his head and whispered against her lips, "Sometimes when I look at you, it's hard to breath. When you touch me, I don't care about breathing." He kissed her slow and sweet, and with each press of his lips and touch of his tongue, her heart swelled and ached. It was wonderful and awful and brand-new. Then he pulled back to say, "I don't know how this is all going to work out, but I want to be with you. You are important to me. — Rachel Gibson

Four wanders through the crowd of initiates, watching us as we go through the movements again. When he stops in front of me, my insides twist like someone is stirring them with a fork. He stares at me, his eyes following my body from my head to my feet, not lingering anywhere - a practical, scientific gaze.
"You don't have much muscle", he says, "which means you're better off using your knees and elbows. You can put more power behind them."
Suddenly he presses a hand to my stomach. His fingers are so long that, though the heel of his hand touches one side of my rib cage, his fingertips still touch the other side. My heart pounds so hard my chest hurts, and I stare at him, wide-eyed.
"Never forget to keep tension here", he says in a quiet voice.
Four lifts his hand and keeps walking. I feel the pressure of his palm even after he's gone. It's strange, but I have to stop and breathe for a few seconds before I can keep practicing again. — Veronica Roth

Be spectacularly great at what you do. Wear your passion on your sleeve and hold your heart in the palm of your hand. And work hard. Really hard. — Robin S. Sharma

Can I touch you?"
His lashes closed, resting on the tops of his tanned, sculpted cheeks as his smile grew broad. "You don't have to ask." I reached out immediately but paused within inches of contact. He must've sensed my hesitation because he reopened his eyes. "What's wrong?"
I swallowed, utterly overwhelmed. "I don't know where to start."
Mason's gaze warmed . He wrapped strong warm fingers around my wrist and drew my palm forward, leading me where he wanted my hand to follow. When he set it on the center of his chest, right over his heart and pressed my flesh to his as if fingerprinting my soul to his. I blinked back gratified tears.
"Start here. No one's ever touched me here before. — Linda Kage

Do you remember what you're supposed to do now? Kiss the palm of your hand and press it against your heart. — Paullina Simons

Morpheus snatches both of my necklaces from my fingers, holding the delicate links taut enough that I can't struggle without breaking them. "Were he to pay more attention to you instead of his precious career" - he drapes the charms over a palm and, using his gloved forefinger and thumb, positions the tiny key in place atop the heart's keyhole - "perhaps then he would be attuned to your needs and desires." Holding my gaze, he makes a show of how the key's teeth aren't the right shape for the heart's opening. "As it stands, he's just not the right fit. — A.G. Howard

You're the mayfly,' he murmurs.
And then Evan Walker kisses me.
Holding my hand across his chest, his other hand sliding across my neck, his touch feathery soft, sending a shiver that travels down my spine into my legs, which are having a hard time keeping me upright. I can feel his heart slamming against my palm and I can smell his breath and feel the stubble on his upper lip, a sandpapery contrast to the softness of his lips, and Evan is looking at me and I'm looking back at him. — Rick Yancey

Touch had always saved them in the past. No matter the anger or hurt, no matter the depth of the aloneness, a touch, even a light and passing touch, reminded them of their long togetherness. A palm on a neck: it all flooded back. A head leaned upon a shoulder: the chemicals surged, the memory of love. At times, it was almost impossible to cross the distance between their bodies, to reach out. At times, it was impossible. Each new the feeling so well, in the silence of a darkened bedroom, looking at the same ceiling: If I could open my fingers, my heart's fingers could open. — Jonathan Safran Foer