Holding Hands In Car Quotes & Sayings

Is this a habit of yours?" he asks.
"What?"
"Dropping stuff whenever you first see me? It's kind of cute. Flattering," he adds, straightening while easily holding all of my stuff in his giant arms.
I've recovered enough to roll my eyes. "Maybe the habit is connected to your urge to rifle through my private things every time you see me?"
"It's possible. Your stuff is so randomly interesting." He eyes my science kit and then scans through the pile of papers in his hands. "You got any other lists that need checking off? College tuition aside, I'm also trying to save for a new car." He laughs. — Anne Eliot

I felt that way not because I never once discovered any palpable hard young throat to crush among the masculine mutes that flickered somewhere in the background; but because it was to me "overwhelmingly obvious" (a favorite expression with my aunt Sybil) that all varieties of high school boys - from the perspiring nincompoop whom "holding hands" thrills, to the self-sufficient rapist with pustules and a souped-up car - equally bored my sophisticated young mistress. — Vladimir Nabokov

Come over here so I can wipe my hands on your shirt," she said, holding up her beer-sticky hands. Eyebrows raised in amusement, Blue did as she asked. He stood between her legs at the front of the car, his knees against the bumper.
"Go for it," he said.
Her wet fingers grazed the muscle of his abdomen as she fumbled to dry her hands on his T-shirt. Blue sucked in a breath when her hands brushed his skin, and something electric ran through her. A flush burned her cheeks. She made herself focus on the artwork on his T-shirt.
"Now the ick is on you, where it belongs," she said.
"You are a very nasty princess," Blue said. — Sarah Cross

But it is just two lovers, holding hands and in a hurry to reach their car, their locked hands a starfish leaping through the dark. — John Updike

Uri was turned, looking at him, shouting something, but at that point, Gabe couldn't hear him. A moment later, Gabe felt like the car was spinning uncontrollably. The nausea overcame him and he seriously thought he might be sick. He looked down at Sophie to make sure she was still all right. His hands were holding her head gently, but they no longer seemed like his hands. There was a glowing, blue light coming from his palms. He began to hyperventilate. Everything went black. — Wendy Owens

I was her daughter, but more. I was Karen, Cheryl, Leif. Karen Cheryl Leif. KarenCherylLeif. Our names blurred into one in my mother's mouth all my life. She whispered it and hollered it, hissed it and crooned it. We were her kids, her comrades, the end of her and the beginning. We took turns riding shotgun with her in the car. "Do I love you this much?" she'd ask us, holding her hands six inches apart. "No," we'd say, with sly smiles. "Do I love you this much?" she'd ask again, and on and on and on, each time moving her hands farther apart. But she would never get there, no matter how wide she stretched her arms. The amount that she loved us was beyond her reach. It could not be quantified or contained. It was the ten thousand named things in the Tao Te Ching's universe and then ten thousand more. Her love was full-throated and all-encompassing and unadorned. Every day she blew through her entire reserve. — Cheryl Strayed

So, Acheron," Kyrian said, hijacking their conversation. "What happened to your car? I saw the busted fender on it. How unlike you to crash into anything."
Nick cringed as Acheron turned towards him with an arched brow.
"Hey now," Nick said, holding his hands up in defence of himself, "it was not my fault.I was minding my own business when the trash can went suicidal, came out of nowhere, and jumped in front of the car."
"It was on the curb, Nick," Ash said drily. "Along with a number of screaming pedestrians, running for their lives."
"That's your story. I'm sticking to mine ... And there ought to be a law about homicidal trash cans, and fines for people who put them on the street. They're really dangerous ... Just saying. — Sherrilyn Kenyon

You might have noticed that I have been sending you used books. I have done this not to save money, but to make a point which is that a used book, unlike a used car, hasn't lost any of its initial value. A good story rolls of the lot into the hands of its new reader as smoothly as the day it was written. And there's another reason for these used paperbacks that never cost much even when new; I like the idea of holding a book that someone else has held, of eyes running over lines that have already seen the light of other eyes. That, in one image, is the community of readers, is the communion of literature. — Yann Martel

As we were about to cross the road, Davin suddenly grabbed my wrist and held me back a moment; a car peeled out of the driveway and roared past us. "Geez," I gasped, and then, glancing at him curiously, I added, "Thanks." He didn't say anything, but slowly released my wrist. Before he completely withdrew, I took his hand and interlaced my fingers through his. He looked at me, his lips parted in surprise, but then he smiled shyly and gave my hand a squeeze as we kept walking. It gave me a feeling of nervous flutters in the best way. As we walked up to the doors, Jill and Laurel came bursting out the exit. — J.M. Richards

Just because something is addictive doesn't mean that you will get addicted to it. But ... if your stomach ties up in knots while you count the seconds waiting for a phone call from that special someone ... if you hear a loud buzzing in your ears when you see a certain person's car (or one just like it) ... if your eyes burn when you hear a random love song or see a couple holding hands ... if you suffer the twin agonies of craving for and withdrawing from a series of unrequited crushes or toxic relationships ... if you always feel like you're clutching at someone's ankle and dragged across the floor as they try to leave the room ... welcome to the club. — Ethlie Ann Vare

What I wouldn't give to have known my father with my mother in love-together, you know, just the two of them, in the kitchen laughing, making a sandwich, or holding hands on the street, seeing my father open a car door for my other. The absence of those things are what makes you an orphan-it's the ordinary everyday expressions of love you miss. — Adriana Trigiani