In The Palm Of My Hand 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

I live in a world where two truths coexist: where both hell and hope lie in the palm of my hand — Alice Sebold

I agree. To me, it [galloping on horseback] is the essence of freedom - the power of the beast beneath you, the wind in your face, the thundering of the hooves. It is a great elixir for the soul."
"And does your soul need healing, Benjamin?" she asked quietly, gently running her fingertips across his bicep and down his forearm.
He turned away from the view of the pond and looked at her with clear, blue eyes, his expression serious. He captured her fingers in the palm of his hand. "My healing started the day I met you. You are my elixir."
"Then perhaps you need another dose," she whispered, her face upturned as she leaned closer to him. — Suzannah Daniels

I opened my eyes today to a world that felt alien. For though things resembled the familiar, nothing was the same. Walls I once considered confining, crumbled at the slightest shove. Mountains that for ages had barred my view now faded, transparent. Meandering roads stretched out as straight as an arrow, void of stop signs. Obstacles no longer stood stationary. Pinnacles loomed within reach. Beasts were tame, bullies timid, wagging tongues all tied into knots, and in the palm of my hand glistened the end of a glorious rainbow. It took but a moment to realize that in my newfound sight, everything I'd ever longed for was accessible. Incredibly, the only thing that had really changed was the way I saw the world. — Richelle E. Goodrich

I thought that ground fire couldn't reach the zeppelins," I said. "I thought that guns on the ground didn't have the range."
"Eleanore. Do you imagine for one particle of one second that he was thinking clearly enough to fathom that?"
"He was thinking clearly enough to fathom all of this," I retorted, my hand flung out to encompass the roof. Blood stained my palm. "Clearly enough to have men haul all these crates into the castle in broad daylight all week long, so that everyone could see them and wonder what was actually inside! — Shana Abe

The entire room turns and stares. There's no doubt what they see - ripped jeans, a black T-shirt, tattoos and earrings. I don't care what they see. All I care about is what she sees: a person unwelcomed or the guy she loves.
A tear flows down her face, and the hand wrapped at her waist tells me she's paralyzed. In a long gold ball gown that's more skirt than dress, Rachel is truly the angel I believe her to be. A man in a tuxedo stands. "Son, I think you have the wrong room."
"No. I don't." I stride between the tables, keeping my eyes locked with hers. The closer I get, the more she straightens. Her hand falls from her stomach, and the tear clears from her face. Rachel gazes at me as if I'm a dream. I extend my hand, palm out. "I need help."
Her blue eyes lose their glaze, and the hue of violet I love so much returns. "So do I." — Katie McGarry

They don't, in some people; those unlucky enough never to change in themselves, but there are few like that." She gave my folded hand a squeeze and patted it. "I doubt that you're one of those. Your hand shows quite a lot of change already, for one so young. That would likely be the War, of course," she said, as though to herself. I was curious again, and opened my palm voluntarily. "What am I, then, according to my hand?" Mrs. Graham frowned, but did not pick up my hand again. "I canna just say. It's odd, for most hands have a likeness to them. Mind, I'd no just say that it's 'see one, you've seen them all,' but it's often like that - there are patterns, you know." She smiled suddenly, an oddly engaging grin, displaying very white and patently false teeth. — Diana Gabaldon

Jesus has given me eternal life in Him. Let them take my life here, but God holds me in the palm of His hand and no one can take Him from me. — Francine Rivers

Making a Fist
For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern
past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.
"How do you know if you are going to die?"
I begged my mother.
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she answered,
"When you can no longer make a fist."
Years later I smile to think of that journey,
the borders we must cross separately,
stamped with our unanswerable woes.
I who did not die, who am still living,
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,
clenching and opening one small hand. — Naomi Shihab Nye

Dropping his arm from my shoulders, he reached down and folded his hand around mine. It wasn't the first time he'd held my hand, but there was an intimacy there that hadn't been present before. A tight shiver curled its way down my spine as his thumb moved along my palm while we walked down to class.
He had not done that before.
Rider let go of my hand when we entered speech, and I stepped in front of him, walking toward my seat. I dropped my bag on the floor and started to sit when Rider swooped down, kissing my cheek once more.
I flushed as I glanced over at him.
He grinned as he sat. "Couldn't help myself. Your cheek looked like it was missing my kiss. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

In my dream, the angel shrugged and said, if we fail this time, it will be a failure of imagination
and then she placed the world gently in the palm of my hand. — Brian Andreas

Wow," he muttered, his voice choked with tears. "Here we are, the last night and all, and I can't think of anything to say."
I pressed my palm to his cheek, feeling the moisture beneath my fingers, and smiled at him. "How about 'goodbye'?"
"Nah." Puck shook his head. "I make a point of never saying goodbye, princess. Makes it sound like you're never coming back."
"Puck - "
He bent down and kissed me softly on the lips. Ash stiffened, arms tightening around me, but Puck slid out of reach before either of us could react. "Take care of her, ice-boy," he said, smiling as he backed up several paces. "I guess I won't be seeing you, either, will I? It was ... fun, while it lasted."
"I'm sorry we didn't get to kill each other," Ash said quietly.
Puck chuckled and bent to retrieve his fallen dagger. "My one and only regret. Too bad, that would have been an epic fight." Straightening, he gave us that old, stupid grin, raising a hand in farewell. "See you around, lovebirds. — Julie Kagawa

I can feel that I'm stronger than him and stand with the left side of my body towards him, feet shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent. My left hand's palm faces my body, fingers slightly curled as I gather my energy. He probably expects that I'm going to slam it into him as he did me. Instead, I cast my majick out like a net and drag him towards me; the maneuver catches him by surprise and I smile as I pull my arm back to punch him in the face. He stumbles and I'm glad because it means I won't have to lose momentum by jabbing up — Sara Brackett

It has come to me with a fight. It has come to me the hard way, through tears and fog and fear and chaos, and now has landed in the palm of my hand like a firefly. There now, I have had my vision. — Shauna Niequist

She had be by the balls - literally had her fingers wrapped around my balls! Her hand fit them good, Mitch!" I can hear desire in his voice. "At times it was a little painful, I have to admit, but my balls were made to fit in her palm. Mitch, "he says, all too seriously, "I have found the keeper of my balls, Mitch. I'm ready to hand them over. — Jacquelyn Ayres

I reach for her hand and wind my fingers through hers, turning them so the rain patters down onto her palm. I trace a circle there with my thumb, smoothing the water in her skin. I want to show her there's nothing to be afraid of. — Amie Kaufman

I rubbed my left forearm and hand, the entirety of which was now covered in swirls and whorls of black ink. Even my fingers weren't spared, and a large eye was tattooed in the center of my palm. It was feline, and its slitted pupil stared right back at me. — Sarah J. Maas

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

All of a sudden, life became too much to bear. Just like that, for no particular reason. Because there was a child's corpse in the fridge on rue Parthenais. Because I had to start all over again from scratch, one more time. Because I had rolled my rock to the top of the hill and now it was rolling back down again. The times before, I'd always managed to put on a brave face. But there comes a time when you just don't feel strong enough to look for another place to live and go shopping again for clothes and dishes and cutlery and scouring pads and toilet paper. This was one of those times. When I got back to the hotel, I asked the Barbie at reception for the key to the minibar. It burned in the palm of my hand. I slapped it back down on the counter and ran out. I had to find a meeting. — Bernard Emond

What have you done to me?"
Rhysand stood, running a hand through his short, dark hair. It's custom in my court for bargains to be permanently marked upon flesh."
I rubbed my left forearm and hand, the entirety of which was now covered in swirls and whorls of black ink. Even my fingers weren't spared, and a large eye was tattooed in the center of my palm. It was feline, and its slitted pupil stared right back me.
"Make it go away," I said, and he laughed.
"You humans are truly grateful creatures, aren't you? — Sarah J. Maas

What appears most disquieting to me in isolation is the dilemma of how to use time. There is either too much or too little of it; we either live inside painfully contracting horizons, or feel ourselves isolated in the vastness of space. I seem to have lived with the palm of my hand balanced on the tip of a knife, writing what in theory I would call the Preface to a Future Book. And the relation of time to creation should always appear like that, a ratio that describes the fullness of energy brought to a particular stage of one's life, so that each work is a preface to a stage at which one has still to arrive, the logical extension of which is death.
I live for the blaze of metaphor that unites incongruities. The red wine-stain on my page is like an intoxicant to the dance of words. It is a little ritual I undertake, this sprinkling of wine-spots on paper. — Jeremy Reed

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic and she said yes I asked her if it was okay to be short and she said it sure is I asked her if I could wear nail polish or not wear nail polish and she said honey she calls me that sometimes she said you can do just exactly what you want to Thanks God I said And is it even okay if I don't paragraph my letters Sweetcakes, God said who knows where she picked that up what I'm telling you is Yes Yes Yes - Kaylin Haught1 1. Kaylin Haught, "God Says Yes to Me," in The Palm of Your Hand (Thomaston, ME: Tilbury House, 1995). Introduction — Karoline Lewis

Put your soul in the palm of my hand for me to look at, like a crystal jewel. I'll sketch it in words ... — Yasunari Kawabata

Who are you?" I whispered, leaning forward and reaching across the table to touch his sternly gorgeous face, almost afraid he'd disappear beneath my fingertips. "The face of an angel, the soul of a poet, and the fists of a fighter. I don't know how to understand you, Mickey."
Mickey caught my hand with his and then turned his head and pressed a soft kiss in my palm. "I'm not the only poet at this table. — Lucy Connors

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

I make grilled cheeses for lunch, one for me, two for Will. We don't have any chips, but I find a far of pickles in the pantry.
"This is the best thing I've ever eaten." He pauses for a drink, staring at me over the rim of his glass of juice.
"It's the provolone," I say, swallowing my last bite.
"It's the chef."
I smile and look away.
We listen to music. Talk. Kiss until my flesh glimmers gold-red. Warms to the touch from the deep scald at my core. He stops to watch. Leans his face close to my neck and smells my skin. Like I'm something he might taste. He sweeps his hands along my arms ... making me burn hotter.
"Is this what it's like for other fire-breathers?" he asks, winks, holding my hand up in his broad palm. "Or is it just me and my magic hands? — Sophie Jordan

And in this he showed me a little thing, the quantity of a hazel nut, lying in the palm of my hand, as it seemed. And it was as round as any ball. I looked upon it with the eye of my understanding, and thought, 'What may this be?' And it was answered generally thus, 'It is all that is made.' I marveled how it might last, for I thought it might suddenly have fallen to nothing for littleness. And I was answered in my understanding: It lasts and ever shall, for God loves it. And so have all things their beginning by the love of God.

In this little thing I saw three properties. The first is that God made it. The second that God loves it. And the third, that God keeps it. — Julian Of Norwich

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

You promise you're not going to hurt me?"

I untie the cord from around her wrists and pull her into my arms.

Then I throw her down on the desk and plant a kiss on her so intense I feel her nipples harden underneath me.

She hesitates at first, but when I tease her bottom lip with my tongue she opens her mouth and lets out a low moan.

I pull away and give her a cocky smirk. "Did that hurt?"
She opens her mouth to say something, but pauses.

The resonating slap across my face with the palm of her hand throws me for a loop.

"Don't you fucking touch me again until I get some answers asshole," she says as she pushes me off of her and pries herself from the desk.

I rub my cheek and stare at her in awe.

God, I love this woman. — Ashley Jade

I thought of the bowl of water my mother taught me to look into. It was true, everything a person ever needed to know was right there in a single bowl small enough to fit in the palm of one hand. — Alice Hoffman

I don't dance, But here I am
Spinning you around and around in circles
It Ain't my style, but I don't care
I'd do anything with you anywhere
Yes, you got me in the palm of your hand
Cause, I don't dance. — Lee Brice

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

As if rethinking, he stops and laces his fingertips through my gloved hand, pulling me close. "In case I don't get another chance to tell you ... One, you look amazing." He traces my eye markings where they curl out from under the fuzzy edges of my mask. "And two ... " He turns my hand to kiss my covered palm. "You got this, fairy queen."
Sucking in a sharp breath, I throw my arms around his neck. He hugs me tight, presses his lips to the top of my head, then steps back and pulls his hood into place, vanishing from sight. — A.G. Howard

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

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

I could still see some blood caked on at the back of his whitish paws. Doggie stigmatas. I carefully held out my hand. Junior nervously leaned forward, sniffed it instinctively. He looked at my hand, then up at me, then he rested his furry jaw in my open palm. Next to me, I heard Cindy crying softly. Girls. — J.R. Rain

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

I crossed the room, and what you did was to feel my hair over and over again and in different ways, touch it, with the palm of your hand ... felt it, strands of hair, with your fingers, touched it as if it were cloth, the way a child touches its favorite surfaces. — Edna O'Brien

Maybe I would wake tomorrow and find that it had all been a dream, that Alexei was still alive and Mal was unhurt, that no one had tried to kill me, that I'd never met the King and Queen or seen the Apparat, or felt the Darkling's hand on the nape of my neck. Maybe I would wake to smell the campfires burning, safe in my own clothes, on my little cot, and I could tell Mal all about this strange and terrifying, but very beautiful, dream. I rubbed my thumb over the scar in my palm and heard Mal's voice saying, "We'll be okay, Alina. We always are." "I hope so, Mal," I whispered into my pillow and let my tears carry me to sleep. — Leigh Bardugo

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

Killing time isn't as difficult as it sounds.
I can shoot a hundred numbers through the chest and watch them bleed decimal points in the palm of my hand. I can rip the numbers off a clock and watch the hour hand tick tick tick its final tock just before I fall asleep. I can suffocate seconds just by holding my breath. I've been murdering minutes for hours and no one seems to mind. — Tahereh Mafi

Desire overwhelmed me once she had gone. But it was not a desire for Homer. I had to return to the library. I could already smell the books' muskiness and in my mind turned over pages with as many differing textures as a forest; pages that were brittle and fragile which had to be coaxed to turn; pages that were soft and scented, presenting their words as if the were a gift in the palm of a hand, and pages that fell open heavily of their own accord as if weighted by the importance of their message. But more than anything else I was compelled by their mystery, by all the stories they had yet to tell me.
'I have to go to the library, Homer. I have to be with the books. — Christine Aziz

He had curled himself up into a minature sphere in the farthest corner of the box, a fuzzy softball that would have fit eaisly into the palm of my hand. — Gwen Cooper

I want to give you something." He slid the ring off his finger. "Up until this week, I've never wanted anything more in my life than to wear this ring. Not as a piece of jewelry, but because I thought I could find meaning in saving others, in being a hero. But the meaning I've finally found in my life is from meeting you." He set the ring on the palm of his hand and held it out. "I want you to have it. — Scott Speer

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

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

In the last month or so, i have read the great gatsby and a separate peace. i am starting to see a real trend in the kind of books bill gives me to read. and just like the tape of songs, it is amazing to hold each of them in the palm of my hand. they are all my favorites. all of them. — Stephen Chbosky

Is it your wish that I should leave you now?" "Why would you think that of me?" His eyebrows rose, the vulnerability gone. "You are not a servant, Mariana, to be thus ordered from my sight." "No," I admitted, looking down at my feet, "I am not a servant. I am a mistress. A minor difference, I'll grant you." His eyes were steady on my face. "You are my love," he corrected me, softly, "and there is no shame in that. Do you wish this afternoon undone?" I raised my head. "No," I told him honestly. "I will not force you to my bed," he said. "I do not want a frightened woman, nor a coy one, but one who gives me love because she wills it so. If I make no promises, it is because the world is an uncertain place, and words matter little. But if you doubt the honor of my love, come," he stretched his hand towards me, palm upward, "let me renew my pledge. — Susanna Kearsley

I don't know anything about art so I can't tell you that it's watercolor or acrylic or that it's on canvas or anything art related at all. I can tell you that it's a painting of a hand, my hand, turned up and opened to the world and that it reaches into my body and rips out everything that's left. Because in the palm, right in the center, is the pearl button I never reached. — Katja Millay

We're both so into it, neither of us hears the footsteps until a snarl breaks us apart. We turn to find Morpheus standing there with enough rage in his black eyes to send the Devil packing for heaven.
Jeb tugs his fingers from the rings in my belt but keeps a hand at my lower back. I touch my lips; they're throbbing and gluttonous, hungry for more.
"Wel, now, isn't that cozy?" Morpheus's voice isn't liquid this time. It grates like rusted nails along my eardrums. He peels off his gloves and slaps them against his palm, wings droopy and trailing the floor like a cape. "perhaps you might give Alyssa her lipstick back. We haven't time to find more before dinner." — A.G. Howard

How long are you staying?"
This time she did laugh. "Always gracious.A few days," she told him. "No more than a week.No,please." She held up her hand, palm up. "Don't beg me to extend my visit; I simply can't stay any longer." She knew he would scowl and swear and open his house to her for as long as she needed.
He finished off the last of his eggs. "Okay, you can drive into town for supplies while you're here."
"Always happy to be of service," Shelby muttered. "How do you manage to get every major newspaper in the country delivered out here?"
"I pay for it," he said simply. "They think I'm odd."
"You are odd. — Nora Roberts

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

I have a lot of fun with guns, especially the M-16, but my favourite is my little .22. It fits nicely in the palm of your hand. I do limit myself to blanks. — Jeri Ryan

His voice goads me and then I register the perfect rhythm he is creating in my tightly wound body. One, two, and then three fingers fill me, his hand rocking flawlessly against my quivering clitoris as he fucks me. Slowly at first and then the tempo increases as Shaw builds the pace. Before I know it I am panting as the sensations consume me. Eyes shut tight, I feel myself grinding against what feels like the palm of his hand or maybe his wrist, loving the friction it creates as Shaw penetrates me over and over again. — Felicity Brandon

It is said you are the woman who holds all of London in the palm of her hand."

"Perhaps not all of London, Your Grace, but a fortunate few have indeed felt the palm of my hand. — Joanna Shupe

I had an amazing feeling when I finally held the tape in my hand. I just thought to myself that in the palm of my hand, there was this one tape that had all of these memories and feelings and great joy and sadness. — Stephen Chbosky

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

God can do anything. He has all power in the palm of His Hand. My Body, like all other bodies, is a temporary habitation; but, My Power is eternal, all-pervasive, ever-dominant. — Sathya Sai Baba

But the thing I remember most about the screening in October twenty years ago was the moment Julian grasped my hand that had gone numb on the armrest separating our seats. He did this because in the book Julian Wells lived but in the movie's new scenario he had to die. He had to be punished for all of his sins. That's what the movie demanded. (Later, as a screenwriter, I learned it's what all movies demanded.) When this scene occurred, in the last ten minutes, Julian looked at me in the darkness, stunned. "I died," he whispered. "They killed me off." I waited a bit before sighing, "But you're still here." Julian turned back to the screen and soon the movie ended, the credits rolling over the palm trees as I (improbably) take Blair back to my college while Roy Orbison wails a song about how life fades away. — Bret Easton Ellis

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

Why won't you hold me?" I ask, drawing back a little.
He laughs a little, holds out his hands as if in explanation. They are covered in dirt and paint and blood.
I pull his hand to mine, put my palm against his. I can feel the grit of sand, the slick of paint, and the cuts and scrapes that speak of his own journey.
"It will all come clean," I tell him. — Ally Condie

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

Check this out," Nine says. He holds up a small purple stone and then places it on the back of his hand. The stone slides into his hand - through it. Nine turns his hand over just as the stone pops out in his palm. "Pretty cool, right?" he asks me, waggling his eyebrows.
"Uh, but what is it supposed to do?" Eight asks, looking up from his own Chest.
"I dunno. Impress girls?" Nine looks over at me. "Did it work?"
"Um ... " I hesitate, trying not to roll my eyes too hard. "Not really. But, I've seen guys teleport so I'm kind of hard to impress."
"Tough crowd. — Pittacus Lore

He places the skull in the palm of my hand. There are four canines; the top two are so long and curved I can feel them pricking my skin. There's a green tinge round the eye socket and in a fine line across the cranium. I'm not sure what animal it's from.
'Stoat,' Harris says, as if I've spoken out loud. 'They hunt grouse and partridge. I found it behind my house. I buried the body in the furze until it was just bone.'
His hand is still beneath mine, supporting it. I think of him seeing the small dead creature and digging a tiny grave for it. Planning ahead for all those months just so he'd see the skeleton. Or maybe he severed the animal's head and that was the only part he buried.
'It's been waiting for you all this time. Like I have. — Sanjida Kay

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

Stop!" I sent my open hand sailing and slapped Talbot across his face.
He let go of the spear and stared down at me-that rage burning in his eyes. Then he blinked and clutched his palm over the red hand-shaped mark I'd left on his face. "What was that for!"
"He submitted.Let.Him.Go. — Bree Despain

As I rock down the hall I am flung from my path- snatched and grabbed. Before I can even utter a word, a large palm is covering my mouth. In less than five seconds I am inside a pitch black room, pushed face first into a cold metal door, and I hear the lock snick into place. A heavy weight presses at my back. I didn't even have time to panic. It was a well-timed attack.
My mind flashes to another time and place, another hand on my mouth. I breathe though the panic that tries to overcome me.
I allow my senses to put me at ease. He's just softly breathing near my ear. His body is relaxed. The way he holds me feels more playful than threatening.
"Let me guess ... the Boss," I say to the heavy weight at my back. My tone is a mix of amused annoyance. — Erica Chilson

He holds out his hand, and in his palm are two shiny silver balls linked with a thick black thread ... Inside me! I gasp, and all the muscles deep in my belly clench. My inner goddess is doing the dance of the seven veils ... Oh my ... It's a curious feeling. Once they're inside me, I can't really feel them - but then again I know they're there ... Oh my ... I may have to keep these. They make me needy, needy for sex. — E.L. James

He suddenly leaned in, and his fingers brushed my cheek. Warmth flooded my skin, and I frozen, waiting for him to pull back.
He didnt. The tips of his fingers lingered on my cheek for a moment. Then, very slowly, his hand slipped forward, the palm brushing my skin. Frozen, I stared at him, watching his face as his fingers moved from my cheek to my forehead to my chin, like a blind man tracing someone's features to see them in his mind.
"What are you doing to me?" he whispered. — Julie Kagawa

He put his hand on a waist-high bit of wall, and a chunk of stone immediately shook loose. It landed on his boot, crushing his great toe. Logan kicked it aside and ground out a curse.
He turned in time to see Rabbie extending an open palm in Callum's direction. "I'll take my payment now."
Callum resentfully dug a coin from his sporran and placed it in Rabbie's hand.
Logan had had enough of their mysterious chatter. "Explain yourselves."
"I'm just settling a wager with Callum," Rabbie said.
"What kind of bet?" he demanded.
"As to whether you bedded your wee little English bride on the wedding night." Rabbie grinned. "I said no. I won."
Damn. Was his frustration that obvious?
Logan thought of the way he'd just cursed at a rock.
Yes, it probably was.
-Rabbie, Callum, & Logan — Tessa Dare

I press my palm to the small pane of glass and feel the cold clasp my hand in a familiar embrace. We are both alone, both existing as the absence of something else. — Tahereh Mafi

It's been my experience that mankind - and I use that to encompass all the races - is seldom satisfied with what they have. Most people's striving is harmless, beneficial even. But there are those who strive for subjugation, having control over others' lives, lives held in the palm of their hand. — Lisa Shearin

I take his hand in mine, running my fingers over the palm. His hands are lovely and lean, and I can't help thinking about those hands on my body. The sexiest part of a man is his hands. — Candace Bushnell

I put my hand in my pocket and squeeze my rocks and wonder if there is a word for the marks you get on your palm when you squeeze something so hard that the skin is on the verge of ripping. — Amy Zhang

You know, maybe I meant more that you
seemed ... uninterested. In, ah, in ahhh," I moved my palm in circles in the air in front of me.
He lifted one brow. "Uninterested in your ... chest?"
"What?" I realized my hand had been circling right over my boobs. Nice move, Aurora. I rolled my eyes. "No! Not ... that!"
"Good." His dark eyes glittered with amusement. "Because I can assure you I find your chest very interesting. At times, downright mesmerizing. — A&E Kirk

You're a good Irishman, right?" When Butch nodded, V said, "Irish, Irish ... let me think. Yeah ... " Vishous's eyes sobered, and in a voice that cracked, he said, "May the road rise to meet you. May the wind always be at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rains fall soft upon your fields. And ... my dearest friend ... until we meet again may the Lord hold you in the palm of His hand. — J.R. Ward

Slowly his resistance ebbed. She felt the change in his body, the relaxing of tension, his shoulders curving around her as if he could draw her into himself. 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. — Lisa Kleypas

... He showed me a little thing, the quantity of a hazel nut, lying in the palm of my hand ... as round as any ball. I looked at it and thought, What may this be, and I was answered generally thus: It is all that is made. I marvelled how it might last. For I thought it might fall suddenly to nothing, for little cause; and I was answered in my understanding: It lasts and ever shall, for God loves it. And so has everything its being, through the love of God. — Margaret Atwood

One hobby I did not pick up was crocheting, an obsession among prisoners throughout the system. Some of the handiwork was impressive. The inmate who ran the laundry was a surly rural white woman named Nancy whose dislike for anyone but "northerners" was hardly a secret. Her personality left a lot to be desired, but she was a remarkable crochet artist. One day in C Dorm I happened upon Nancy standing with my neighbor Allie B. and mopey Sally, all howling with laughter. "What?" I asked, innocently. "Show her, Nancy!" giggled Allie. Nancy opened her hand. Perched there in her palm was an astonishingly lifelike crochet penis. Average in size, it was erect, fashioned of pink cotton yarn, with balls and a smattering of brown cotton pubic hair, and a squirt of white yarn ejaculate at the tip. — Piper Kerman

In the square below,' said the Happy Prince, 'there stands a little match-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all spoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money, and she is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is bare. Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and her father will not beat her.'

'I will stay with you one night longer,' said the Swallow, 'but I cannot pluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then.'

'Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince, 'do as I command you.'

So he plucked out the Prince's other eye, and darted down with it. He swooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand. 'What a lovely bit of glass,' cried the little girl; and she ran home, laughing.

Then the Swallow came back to the Prince. 'You are blind now,' he said, 'so I will stay with you always. — Oscar Wilde

I turned around slowly, and looked up at him. He stiffened and sucked in a shallow breath. After a moment, he touched my cheek.
"Such naked pain," he whispered.
I turned my face into his palm and closed my eyes. His fingers threaded into my hair, cupped my head, and brushed the brand. It heated at his touch. His hand tightened at the base of my skull and squeezed, and he raised me slowly to my tiptoes. I opened my eyes and it was my turn to inhale sharply. Not human. Oh, no, not this man.
"Never show it to me again." His face was cold, hard, his voice colder. — Karen Marie Moning

Oh, Gray. You did this to yourself?"
He blew out a sigh. "Never underestimate the power of liquor and maudlin sentiment on an adolescent boy. I was so stupid. Botched the whole business. It had to be my chest, since I couldn't very well reach my own shoulder. Didn't heat the iron long enough, and of course my hand shook like a palm frond in a hurricane." He pushed her hand aside and traced the blurred, irregular pattern with his own fingertips. "God, did it hurt. Hurt all the way to England. — Tessa Dare

Why do you look?" I mutter.
I half expect Magiano to tease me, spitting back one of his sarcastic phrases. But he doesn't smile. "We are drawn to stories," he says in a soft voice, "and every scar carries one." He lifts a hand and places his palm gently against the ruined side of my face, covering the scar.
I look down, embarrassed now. Instinctively, I reach up to brush some of my hair over my face - only to remember that I no longer have long locks.
"Hiding it makes you more beautiful," Magiano says. Then he takes his hand away, exposing my scar again. "But revealing it makes you you." He nods at me. "So wear it proudly. — Marie Lu

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

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

His eyes drifted shut. without opening them, he murmured, "I like the sound of your laugh. It's real and genuine. A lot of girls have this fake laugh. Not you."
"I like your laugh, too." I whispered, feeling pulled in, cozy in the cacoon of his bed.
"Yeah?"
I flattened my palm over his chest, enjoying the sensation of the firm flesh, even warm as it was. He sighed, like my cool hand offered him some relief.
"I laugh more since you came around," he said quietly, his lips barely forming the words.
He did? I frowned. He must not have laughed at all before, then, because I didn't think he was particularly jovial.
I held him through the night. And he held me back, tucking my head beneath his chin. His arms surrounded me and kept me close to his overly warm body. Almost like I was some kind of lifeline. I felt the moment his fever broke around one in the morning. I finally relaxed and fell asleep. — Sophie Jordan

I cozied an apple in my hand and tried the weight of it against my palm, contemplating whether or not beaning a judge with half-rotten fruit would qualify as contempt of the court. Quite probably. — Rachel Heffington

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

I kiss her again just to keep my mouth from admitting that it was. The beginning of the end. The very start of the saddest goodbye in history. Because after tonight, she'll walk away from me and go back to him, holding a piece of me in the palm of her hand. And whenever I look up at the sky at night, wondering where she is, if she's happy, if Evan laughs at her corny jokes or smiles whenever she does, that empty space left behind within me will ache with remembrance. Because her light once filled it. She filled me in a way that nobody on this Earth could. And I'll never feel whole again. — S.L. Jennings

When he put the old-fashioned mechanical toy on her palm, she stopped breathing. It was a tiny representation of an atom, complete with colored ball bearings standing in for neutrons, protons, and on the outside, arranged on arcs of fine wire, electrons. Turning the key on the side made the electrons move, what she'd thought were ball bearings actually finely crafted spheres of glass that sparked with color. A brilliant, thoughtful, wonderful gift for a physics major.
"Why magnesium?" she asked, identifying the atomic number of the light metal. His hand on her jaw, his mouth on her own. "Because it's beautifully explosive, just like my X. — Nalini Singh

It is at the times when I feel that I have nothing that the gem lies in the palm of my hand. — Holly A. Smith

And I say no. The problem is the light, the dim light down here. Cupped in the palm of my hand, the cyanide and the wood pill, I can't tell which is which. What's sex and what's death - I can't tell the difference.
I ask which one to give her.
And Mr. Bacardi leans in to look, both of us breathing hot, damp air into my open hand. — Chuck Palahniuk

My final note is on obligation. Once you have set pen to paper or fingertips to keys you have entered into an obligation. I believe if you are going to write then you need to be strong enough to fulfill that obligation. You have an obligation to the imagination, mind, and very soul of the person whom will read the words you write down. That person is entrusting you and your word to carry him or her on a journey, an adventure, a quest. You literally have that person in the palm of your hand. Your obligation is to carry them without faltering and return them safely home again, hopefully a better person, for having embarked on your journey. — Jess Fulton

Bebop and hip-hop, in so many ways, they're connected. A lot of rappers remind me so much of bebop guys in terms of improvisation, beats and rhymes. My dream is to see hip-hop incorporated in education. You've got the youth of the world in the palm of your hand. — Quincy Jones

Dear friends, I want you to hear this: what is said of Jesus is said of you. I know this can be hard to affirm. You are the beloved daughter or son of God. Can you believe it? Can you hear it not only in your head through your physical ears but in your gut, hear it so that your whole life can be turned around? Go to the scriptures and read: "I have loved you with an everlasting love. I have written your name in the palm of my hand from all eternity. I have molded you in the depths of the earth and knitted you in your mother's womb. I love you. I embrace you. You are mine and I am yours and you belong to me." You have to hear this, because if you can hear this divine voice speak to you from all eternity, then your life will become more and more the life of the beloved, because that is who you are. — Henri J.M. Nouwen

His thumb smoothed over the tiny red marks the pins had made on her palm, and he brought her hand to his face to kiss the little sore spots.
His voice curled hotly inside her palm. "Your hand smells like lemons."
She opened her eyes and stared at him gravely. "I scrub my hands with lemon juice to remove the ink stains."
The information seemed to amuse him, and lights of humor mixed with the heat in his gaze. — Lisa Kleypas

My eyes have really only been opened since you came into my world. You gave me everything. You made me really want to see what was around me, for the first time in my adult life. You made me want you. You made me want ... a life. You were my greatest give of all, Ethan James Blackstone." She reached up to touch my face and held her palm there, her eyes showing me so much of what she felt.
I covered her palm on my cheek with my hand. "As you were for me, my beautiful American girl. — Raine Miller

Really, my artiste, you amaze me. The lengths you will go to in order to accomplish your own destruction. The redundancy of it! In Night City, you had it, in the palm of your hand! The speed to eat your sense away, drink to keep it all so fluid, Linda for a sweeter sorrow, and the street to hold the axe. How far you've come, to do it now, and what grotesque props. . . . Playgrounds hung in space, castles hermetically sealed, the rarest rots of old Europa, dead men sealed in little boxes, magic out of China. . . . — William Gibson

I have scars on my hand from touching certain people. Once, in the park, when Frannie was still in the carriage, I put my hand on the downy pate of her head and left it there too long. Another time, at Loew's Seventy-second Street, with Zooey during a spooky movie. He was about six or seven, and he went under the seat to avoid watching a scary scene. I put my hand on his head. Certain heads, certain colors and textures of human hair leave permanent marks on me. Other things, too. Charlotte once ran away from me, outside the studio, and I grabbed her dress to stop her, to keep her near me. A yellow cotton dress I loved because it was too long for her. I still have a lemon-yellow mark on the palm of my right hand. — J.D. Salinger