If You Like Me Raise Your Hand Quotes & Sayings

Giffen's large hand is cupping my chin as he kneels in front of my jump seat. "Kricket," he says while shaking my head to try to get a response from me. Groaning, I mutter, "Are you really shaking my head right now? It already hurts like a spix kicked it, so stop!" "Getting in touch with your spirit animal, were you?" His question is flippant, but there's relief in his tone that he can't hide. "Yeah, it said to give you this." I raise my middle finger at him. He stares at it, because the gesture means nothing to him. "I should take your finger?" he asks. "I hate you,"
Bartol, Amy A. (2015-03-31). Sea of Stars (The Kricket Series Book 2) (p. 285). 47North. Kindle Edition. — Amy A. Bartol

One of the greatest gifts a caring teacher can contribute to children is to help them learn to sit when they feel like running, to raise their hand when they feel like talking, to be polite to their neighbor, to stand in line without pushing, and to do their homework when they feel like playing. By introducing procedures in the classroom, you are also introducing procedures as a way of living a happy and successful life. — Harry Wong

So we wait?" asked Severard.
"We wait, and we look to our defences. That and we try to find some money. Do you have any cash, Severard?"
"I did have some. I gave it to a girl, down in the slums."
"Ah. Shame."
"Not really, she fucks like a madman. I'd thoroughly recommend her, if you're interested."
Glokta winced as his knee clicked. "What a thoroughly heartwarming tale, Severard, I never had you down for a romantic. I'd sing a ballad if I wasn't so short of funds."
"I could ask around. How much are we talking about?"
"Oh, not much. Say, half a million marks?"
One of the Practical's eyebrows went up sharply. He reached into his pocket, dug around for a moment, pulled his hand out and opened it. A few copper coins shone in his palm.
"Twelve bits," he said. "Twelve bits is all I can raise. — Joe Abercrombie

She looked up and their eyes locked. "Want to be my birthday present?" she asked in a breathy whisper.
Chase's mother didn't raise any fools. He released her hips and trailed his hand down her arm until their fingers entwined.
"Let's get out of here."
He tugged her from the dance floor, trying not to rush like he was running from a fire. But, damn. There was a fire in his britches. — Tamara Hoffa

And how is the expectant mother? You mustn't tax yourself, you know.I don't want my nephew born early enough to raise eyebrows."
Gideon laid his hand in the small of her back in a protective gesture she knew all too well. "Are you implying that I'm the kind of man who'd allow his wife to tax herself?"
"If the shoe fits-"
"Behave, both of you," she admonished as Gideon bristled and Jordan glared. "I swear, when you two get near each other, you act like school boys fighting over a half-pence."
"Oh, you're much more valuable than a half-pence," Jordan retorted. Before Gideon could say anything to that, he added, "And in any case, I didn't come over here to anger you, moppet. I merey wanted to let you know I'm leaving."
"Good," Gideon mumbled under his breath. — Sabrina Jeffries

I'd like all of you to ask yourselves what you would have done, were you a student here in Valentine Morgenstern's day. Would you have joined the Circle? Would you have stood by Valentine's side at the Uprising? Raise your hand, if you think it's possible. Simon was unsurprised to see not a single hand in the air. He'd played this game back in mundane school, every time his history class covered World War II. Simon knew no one ever thought they would be a Nazi. Simon — Cassandra Clare

The Potter

Your whole body is
A glass of wine
Or sweetness destined for me.
When I raise my hand,
I find in every place a dove
Seeking for me,
As if, my love,
You were made of clay
For my very hands of a potter.
Your knees, your breasts,
Your waist,
Disappear in me like in a hollow
Of a thirsting earth
Where they lose
A form,
And together
We become like a single river,
Like a single grain of sand. — Pablo Neruda

That night marks my life's dark center, the moment when growing up ended and the long downward slope toward death began. The wonder to me now is that I thought myself worth saving ... I reached out and clung for life with my good left hand like a claw, grasping at moving legs to raise myself from the dirt. Desperate to save myself in a river of people saving themselves. And if they chanced to look down and see me struggling underneath them, they saw that even the crooked girl believed her own life was precious. That is what it means to be a beast in the kingdom. — Barbara Kingsolver

All day the wind had screamed and the rain had beaten against the windows, so that even here in the heart of great, hand-made London we were forced to raise our minds for the instant from the routine of life and to recognise the presence of those great elemental forces which shriek at mankind through the bars of his civilisation, like untamed beasts in a cage. — Arthur Conan Doyle

Before I could even raise a hand, he spun around like the wind, letting go of the dagger. It smacked into the chest of the white-garbed Guard sneaking up on him. Darting forward, he pulled the blade free before the Guard collapsed, and then threw it again, taking out the other Guard who'd cornered Solos.
Damn. Aiden was a badass ninja. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

The thing about Hawaii, at least the part that is geared toward tourists, is that it's exactly what it promises to be. Step off the plane, and someone places a lei around your neck, as if it were something you had earned - an Olympic medal for sitting on your ass. Raise a hand above your shoulder and, no matter where you are, a drink will appear: something served in a hollowed-out pineapple, or perhaps in a coconut that's been sawed in half. Just like in the time before glasses! you think. — David Sedaris

How many of you were born in Oklahoma? Yeah, never raise your hand to a question like that again. We're the mecca of beer-drinkin' rednecks. — Bryant A. Loney

Love Song
How can I keep my soul in me, so that
it doesn't touch your soul? How can I raise
it high enough, past you, to other things?
I would like to shelter it, among remote
lost objects, in some dark and silent place
that doesn't resonate when your depths resound.
Yet everything that touches us, me and you,
takes us together like a violin's bow,
which draws one voice out of two separate strings.
Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
And what musician holds us in his hand?
Oh sweetest song. — Rainer Maria Rilke

She waited until she and my grandfather Anthel were just home from their honeymoon, and then sat him down and told him this: "Honey, I know you like to take a drink, and that's all right, but be forewarned that I ain't your maid and I ain't your punching bag, and if you ever raise your hand to me you'd best kill me. Because otherwise I'll wait until you're asleep; sew you into the bed; and beat you to death with a frying pan." Until he died, I am told, my grandfather was a gentle man. — Haven Kimmel

So he was deserted. The whole world was clamouring: Kill yourself, kill yourself, for our sakes. But why should he kill himself for their sakes? Food was pleasant, the sun was hot; and this killing oneself, how does one set about it, with a table knife, uglily, with floods of blood,
by sucking a gaspipe? He was too weak; he could scarcely raise his hand. Besides, now that he was quite alone, condemned, deserted, as those we are about to die are alone, there was a luxury in it, an isolation full of sublimity; a freedom which the attached can never know. Holmes had won of course, the brute with the red nostrils had won. But even Holmes himself could not touch this last relic straying on the edge of the world, this outcast, who gazed back at the inhabited regions, who lay, like a drowned sailor, on the shore of the world. — Virginia Woolf

The row of villas which lines Western Avenue is like a row of pink graves in a field of grey; an architectural image of middle age. Their uniformity is the discipline of growing old, of dying without violence and living without success. They are houses which have got the better of their occupants, whom they change at will, and do not change themselves. Furniture vans glide respectfully among them like hearses, discreetly removing the dead and introducing the living. Now and then some tenant will raise his hand, expending pots of paint on the woodwork or labour on the garden, but his efforts no more alter the house than flowers a hospital ward, and the grass will grow its own way, like grass on a grave. — John Le Carre

Oh my God, look!"
I stand and hold out my hand for Sam to inspect.
"Wow," he says, taking the glass and holding it up to the sun. "Red is, like, the rarest color there is.
You're totally lucky you even saw it."
I take the deep red, half-dollar-sized piece from him and smile, looking out across the ocean. I told Matt in my letter before we left that I'd find a piece just for him, but now that it's actually here, sparkling in my hand, I know he'd want me to do something else with it.
I raise it above my head and throw it as hard and as far as I can into the sea.
Let someone else have a lucky day, Anna.
Sam laughs. "Hey, crazy, what'd you do that for? You'll probably never see something like that again in your entire life."
"Right. But I did see it. And now someone else can, too. — Sarah Ockler

The thing is, is to raise your hand. It's not to hide, and it's not to try and pretend or do anything like that. You raise your hand, that's the best thing about it. — Liza Minnelli

He smiled down at the baby, and kissed him on the head. "I give you my blessing, Leo. First male great-grandchild! I have a feeling you are special, like Hazel was. You are more than a regular baby, eh? You will carry on for me. You will see her someday. Tell her hello for me."
"Bisabuelo," Ezperanza said, a little more insistently.
"yes, yes." Sammy chuckled. "El viejo loco rambles on. I am tired, Ezperanza. You are right. But I'll rest soon. It's been a good life. Raise him well, nieta."
The scene faded.
Leo was standing on the deck of the Argo II, holding Hazel's hand. The sun had gone down, and the ship was lit only by bronze lanterns. Hazel's eyes were puffy from crying.
What they'd seen was too much. The whole ocean heaved under them, and now for the first time Leo felt as if they were totally adrift.
"Hello, Hazel Levesque," he said, his voice gravelly. — Rick Riordan

If you like nerds, raise your hand. If you don't, raise your standards. — Violet Haberdasher

HE will raise me up on eagles wings ... bear you on the breath of dawn ... make you shine like the sun and hold you in the palm of HIS hand.. — Anonymous

Outside it's a perfect spring night. We stand on the sidewalk in front of our apartment building, and Henry takes my hand, and I look at him, and I raise our joined hands and Henry twirls me around and soon we're dancing down Belle Plaine Avenue, no music but the sound of cars whoosing by and our own laughter, and the smell of cherry blossoms that fall like snow on the sidewalk as we dance underneath the tress. — Audrey Niffenegger

I was raised by my grandmother. She instilled everything into me. She taught me right from wrong from day one. I remembered everyday, being 4 or 5 years old, and walking to school, she would be like, Raise your right hand and stay on the right side of the street and make sure you do the right thing in school. — Nick Cannon

So," Jesper said, adding sugar to his coffee. "Other than Inej making a new pal, what the hell happened out there?"
"Let's see," said Nina. "Inej fell twenty stories."
"We put a serious hole in my father's dining room ceiling," Wylan offered.
"Nina can raise the dead," said Inej.
Matthias' cup clattered against his saucer. It looked ridiculous in his huge hand. "I can't raise them. I mean, they get up, but it's not like they come back to life. I don't think. I'm not totally sure. — Leigh Bardugo

Honey, I know you like to take a drink, and that's all right, but be forewarned that I ain't your maid and I ain't your punching-bag, and if you ever raise your hand to me you'd best kill me. Because otherwise I'll wait till you're asleep; sew you into the bed; and beat you to death with a frying pan. — Haven Kimmel

It is hopeless, I cannot say it. I give a little whooping cough and raise my eyes to his face. I cannot help myself, I hate him like an enemy, I cannot stop myself dreaming of his enemy, I cannot say his name, I cannot possibly marry him. But Henry, prosaic and real, understands exactly what is happening, and gives me a sharp corrective pinch with his fingers in the soft palm of my hand. He uses his nails, he digs into my flesh, I yelp at the pain, and his hard brown gaze emerges from the mist and I see his scowl. I snatch at a gasp of air. "Say it!" he mutters furiously. I master myself and say again, correctly this time, "I, Elizabeth, take thee, Henry . . . — Philippa Gregory

You shall delve in the darkness of the endless maze," I remembered. "The dead, the traitor, and the lost one raise. We raised a lot of the dead. We saved Ethan Nakamura, who turned out to be a traitor. We raised the spirit of Pan, the lost one." Annabeth shook her head like she wanted me to stop. "You shall rise or fall by the ghost king's hand," I pressed on. "That wasn't Minos, like I'd thought. It was Nico. By choosing to be on our side, he saved us. And the child of Athena's final stand - that was Daedalus." "Percy - " "Destroy with a hero's final breath. That makes sense now. Daedalus died to destroy the Labyrinth. But what was the last - " "And lose a love to worse than death." Annabeth — Rick Riordan

In the other train, looking at me through the window, is the most beautiful boy I've ever seen. He has golden hair and bright blue eyes. His skin seems to glow softly, like he carries the sun inside him. One of his paint-stained hands is clutching his chest, like he just got punched, and the other is pressed flat against the glass of the window. I raise my hand and press it against my window, mirroring him. He looks so confused. Stunned. Like he's just seen a ghost. — Josephine Angelini

Each person in the group said something except for me. My silence became noticed. About halfway through the meeting I started to think, I've got to talk. Today, I've got to talk. Fear racked me so bad that sweat ran down my sides. I thought, After the curly-haired woman stops talking I'll raise my hand. A man with a cocky smile told the curly woman that her story was nothing compared to his, he'd been passed out cold from heroin and God knows what, and I wanted to tell him to quit glorifying hinself. I was just about to say the words, a few faces turned toward me as if they could sense my imminent speech, when a man across the circle interrupted.
The opportunity passed; what I wanted to say wouldn't fit now. I tilted on the back two legs of the chair and waited for my desire to speak and be noticed and be part of the group to travel back through my nervous system. Up the synapses condemnation rushed: Why couldn't I spit something out like a normal person? — Daphne Scholinski

If we do not like what is happening to us, it is a sure sign that we are in need of a change of mental diet. For man, we are told, lives not by bread alone but by every Word that proceeds from the mouth of God. And having discovered the mouth of God to be the mind of man, a mind which lives on Words or inner talking, we should feed into our minds only loving, noble thoughts. For with Words or inner talking we build our world. Let love's lordly hand raise your hunger and thirst to all that is noble and of good report, and let your mind starve e'er you raise your hand to a cup love did not fill or a bowl love did not bless. That you may never again have to say, What have I said? What have I done, O All Powerful Human Word? — Neville Goddard

He was already turning to raise his sword against a spiny-looking creature with nubbly, stony skin like a starfish.
'He thought of Ty on the beach with the starfish in his hand, smiling. It filled him with rage- he hadn't realized before how much demons seemed like the beautiful things of the world had been warped and sickened and made revolting. — Cassandra Clare

Masses of warring men animated the horizon, crashing into stubborn ranks, churning in melee. The air didn't so much thunder as hiss with the sound of distant battle, like a sea heard through a conch shell, Martemus thought - an angry sea. Winded, he watched the first of Conphas's assassins stride up behind Prince Kellhus, raise his short-sword ...
There was an impossible moment - a sharp intake of breath.
The Prophet simply turned and caught the descending blade between his thumb and forefinger. "No," he said, then swept around, knocking the man to the turf with an unbelievable kick. Somehow the assassin's sword found its way into his left hand. Still crouched, the Prophet drove it down through the assassin's throat, nailing him to the turf.
A mere heartbeat had passed. — R. Scott Bakker

She's the one who sits in the back of the classroom.
The one who never raises her hand.
The one who might be the smartest girl you'll ever know.
But ever time she speaks some one speaks their opinion before her.
She's the one who cries herself to sleep.
Who you never see in the hallways.
Who is always late to class because she wants to avoid the wretched bitterness that halls expose.
Who never tells anyone her problems.
Who slices her wrists to get rid of pain.
She is the girl who will never be the same.
She is the girl who will never think she is ever good enough.
She's the one who is feeling like she has no purpose.
She is the one that can raise her voice and stop the bullying but will never choose to.
She might be your best friend.
She might be your daughter.
She might be your girlfriend.
She might just be the girl in the back of you class.
And she will never live the same life she once did. — Sarah Mares

So this, Harriet thought, gazing at her black-clad reflection, was what bearing up looked like. The eyes in the mirror stared at her, somehow, while fixing themselves far away.
Bearing up, then, must be this: the feeling of perfect frozen stillness, so that to raise your hand was a wrenching and unnatural event. It was not being able to sleep or eat, and the small placid tone in which she heard herself decline the food. It was the presentiment that there must be a crack or a hole somewhere at hand down which she was to throw and extinguish herself, since there must surely be something provided to make this bearable. — Jude Morgan