Just Like That You Hold My Hand Quotes & Sayings

I yearn for empty thoughts and silence in my head. For someone to sit down beside me, to hold my hand and take away the cold sting of loneliness that creeps under my skin like an English winter. — Malia Zaidi

You are not that kind of man Pekkala. You are not the monster that your enemies once believed you to be. If you were, you would never have been such a formidable opponent for people like myself. Monsters are easy to defeat. With such people, it is only a question of blood and time, since there only weapon is fear. But you-you won the hearts of the people and the respect of your enemies. I do not believe you understand how rare a thing that is, and those whose hearts you won are out there still." Stalin brushed his hand towards the window, and out across the pale blue autumn sky. " They know how difficult your job can be, and how few of those who walk your path can do what must be done and still hold on to their humanity. They have not forgotten you. And I don't believe you have forgotten them". — Sam Eastland

'I Want To Hold Your Hand' is a great classic by Paul McCartney and John Lennon, I sure love that song. I did like the classic version, a rock-oriented song, then someone heard me do it with the Grant Green approach - Grant Green and Larry Young did it, with a bossa nova beat on the funky side. — George Benson

So there are cakes and pillows and colors galore, but underneath this more obvious patchwork quilt are places like a quiet room where you can go and hold someone's hand and not have to say anything. — Alice Sebold

Prince is the ultimate performer. Prince is that dude that's going to get on stage by himself, if he need to, but hold you in the palm of his hand. Like, you can't take your eyes off the man when he's on stage, and he could just be sitting there playing his guitar. — Ne-Yo

His hold is tight, our fingers are laced, and he's occasionally rubbing circles on the top of my hand with his thumb. These small gestures definitely make handholding seem more like an art. — Kim Karr

Sooner or later
someone
you could not have
ever dreamed of
appears like a rainbow
bridging clouds, and
steals
your breath away.
Someone beautiful,
inside and out,
grabs hold of
your
hand, guides you
along a rarely traveled
road, to a place
where your broken
heart
can be mended, piece
by beating piece.
The cost, gratefully
afforded, is only
your love. — Ellen Hopkins

I go out on the porch and gaze up at the stars twinkling above, the random scattering of millions of stars. Even in a planetarium you wouldn't find as many. Some of them really look big and distinct, like if you reached your hand out intently you could touch them. The whole thing is breathtaking. Not just beautiful though
the stars like the trees in the forest, alive and breathing. And they're watching me. What I've done up till now, what I'm going to do
they know it all. Nothing gets past their watchful eyes. As I sit there under the shining night sky, again a violent fear takes hold of me. My heart's pounding a mile a minute, and I can barely breathe. All these millions of stars looking down on me, and I've never given them more than a passing thought before. Bot just stars
how many other things haven't I noticed in the world, things I know nothing about? I suddenly feel helpless, completely powerless. And I know I'll never outrun that awful feeling. (135) — Haruki Murakami

Bella, I love you, kid, he said in case she could hear. Fear brushed the walls of his chest, circling inside him like a bat in a house. Then he got hold of it. He wanted to get something for her, anything, but he did not want her to feel him let go of her hand. — Thomas Harris

Because I want to know if I'm allowed to kiss your tears away. Because I want to be able to hold your hand. Because I like you. — J.B. McGee

I never liked photography. Not for the sake of photography. I like the object. I like the photographs when you hold them in your hand. — Robert Mapplethorpe

And the creature run from the cur? There thou mightst behold the great image of authority: a dog's obeyed in office.
Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand.
Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back.
Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind
For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.
Through tattered clothes great vices do appear;
Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks.
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
None does offend - none, I say, none. I'll able 'em.
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power
To seal th' accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes,
And like a scurvy politician seem
To see the things thou dost not. — William Shakespeare

Imagine willpower as a closed fist and longing as an open hand. Try closing your fist. How long do you think you can hold that pose? A closed fist requires a lot of attention and energy, and so does willpower. Longing is effortless; it's just there, like an open hand. — Gudjon Bergmann

When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charact'ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love! - then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink. — John Keats

Dear friends, he began, there is no timetable for happiness; it moves, I think, according to rules of its own. When I was a boy I thought I'd be happy tomorrow, as a young man I thought it would be next week; last month I thought it would be never. Today, I know it is now. Each of us, I suppose has at least one person who thinks that our manifest faults are worth ignoring; I have found mine, and am content. When we are far from home we think of home; I, who am happy today, think of those in Scotland for whom such happiness might seem elusive; may such powers as listen to what is said by people like me, in olive groves like this, grant to those who want a friendship a friend, attend to the needs of those who have little, hold the hand of those who are lonely, allow Scotland, our place, our country, to sing in the language of her choosing that song she has always wanted to sing, which is of brotherhood, which is of love. — Alexander McCall Smith

I think the only safe medium are books, because people like to hold books in their hand. — H. G. Bissinger

And I'm just thinking he doesn't have the right to guilt-trip me about this when he says, "I'm not out to make you feel bad. You were upset, and it's only natural you'd seek out comfort. It's just . . ."
"You needed comfort, too."
"Yeah. I'm not asking you to hold my hand and tuck me into bed at night, not that I'll argue if you find yourself so inclined. But we're partners until this is over, and I'd like to think that you at least consider me a friend - oh, Kate, don't cry, okay? You look like a shamed pup, and I never want to make you feel that way. If you cry, I'll end up crying, too. — Rysa Walker

Here's what we're gonna do. You're going to give me that doubt. You're just going to hand it to me, and I'm going to hold it for you. I'm going to keep it for as long as you need me to. For the rest of our lives. I will be your safe place. The place you get to be soft. Right here, just like this. When you leave my arms, you leave whole. Because you already are.
You're not broken sweetie, you're human. You're incredibly strong. You're a wonder. You'll return to your team as the warrior you've always been. And you'll know that at any time, you can come to me, and you'll know mt arms are strong enough. Sigh — Jo Leigh

Books are like rocks. You hold one in your hand and look at it in various lights to get a sense of it, and then when you get a good angle, you throw it through a window to see what happens. — John Darnielle

Can the future hsitory of the world be so fragile that it will not allow two high school teachers to meet and fall in love? To marry, to dance to Beatles tunes like "I Want to Hold Your Hand," and live unremarkable lives? — Stephen King

Just take me and molt me and turn me inside out, till, like a character in Ovid, I become one with your lust, that's what I wanted. Give me a blindfold, hold my hand, and don't ask me to think - will you do that for me? — Andre Aciman

Wait a second," Four says. I turn toward him, wondering which version of Four I'll see now-the one who scolds me, or the one who climbs Ferris wheels with me. He smiles a little, but the smile doesn't spread to his eyes, which look less tense and worried.
"You belong here, you know that?" he says. "You belong with us. It'll be over soon, so just hold on, okay?"
He scratches behind his ear and looks away, like he's embarrassed by what he said.
I stare at him. I feel my heartbeat everywhere, even in my toes. I feel like doing something bold, but I could just as easily walk away. I am not sure which option is smarter, or better. I am not sure that I care.
I reach out and take his hand. His fingers slide between mine. I can't breathe.
I stare up at him, and he stares down at me. For a long moment, we stay that way. Then I pull my hand away and run after Uriah and Lynn and Marlene. Maybe now he thinks I'm stupid, or strange. Maybe it was worth it. — Veronica Roth

The very feel of her hand, even through its glove, was reassuring; it was the sort of hand, he thought, that children would like to hold in the dark. — Elizabeth Von Arnim

You know that you are a writer if you are imaginative. You know that you are a writer if you are curious. You know that you are a writer if you are interested in the things and people of the world. You know that you are a writer if you hold a minie ball in your hand and wonder about its story. You know that you are a writer if you like the sound of rain on the roof. And if you want to tell someone else about your heart and how waiting for the thunder sometimes makes you feel, if you work to find the words to do that, then you are a writer.
Maureen O'Toople in the short story Your Question for Author Here — Jon Scieszka

Who shows a child, just as they are? Who sets it
in its constellation, and gives the measure
of distance into its hand? Who makes a child's death
out of grey bread, that hardens, - or leaves it
inside its round mouth like the core
of a shining apple? Killers are
easy to grasp. But this: death,
the whole of death, before life,
to hold it so softly, and not live in anger,
cannot be expressed. — Rainer Maria Rilke

To hold a human soul in the palm of your hand like a pebble. To feel somebody slip away, yet by your actions to bring her back! Not even a king had such power. — Noah Gordon

Tell me have you ever wanted someone so much it hurts?
Your lips keep trying to speak, but you just can't find the words.
Well I had this dream once, I held it in my hand ...
You had me dim the lights, you danced just like a child.
The wine spilled on your dress and all you did was smile.
Yeah, it was perfect.
I hold it in my mind.
When we owned the night. — Lady Antebellum

I will miss
my chest exploding
you coming home late
not turning on the light
always waking me up

I will miss
the sudden burst of safety
when you look at me
or hold my hand
or say something like
"let's go home"

I will miss
the years I lost
on something or someone.
The pieces didn't fit, shaped wrong
the timing slightly off.

I loved you like I always will. — Charlotte Eriksson

Rhys gave no warning as he gripped my arm, snarling softly, and tore off my glove. His touch was like a brand, and I flinched, yielding a step, but he held firm until he'd gotten both gloves off. " I heard you begging someone, anyone, to rescue you, to get you out. I heard you say no."
"I didn't say anything."
He turned my bare hand over, his hold tightening as he examined the eye he'd tattooed. He tapped the pupil. Once. Twice. " I heard it loud and clear. — Sarah J. Maas

Leaning against my car after changing the oil,
I hold my black hands out and stare into them
as if they were the faces of my children looking
at the winter moon and thinking of the snow
that will erase everything before they wake.
In the garage, my wife comes behind me
and slides her hands beneath my soiled shirt.
Pressing her face between my shoulder blades,
she mumbles something, and soon we are laughing,
wrestling like children among piles of old rags,
towels that unravel endlessly, torn sheets,
work shirts from twenty years ago when I stood
in the door of a machine shop, grease blackened,
and Kansas lay before me blazing with new snow,
a future of flat land, white skies, and sunlight.
After making love, we lie on the abandoned
mattress and stare at our pale winter bodies
sprawling in the half-light. She touches her belly,
the scar of our last child, and the black prints
of my hand along her hips and thighs. — B.H. Fairchild

I followed the sensation,thinking of Lend. What it felt like to hold his hand. Watching him draw.Those precious times when he got to be nothing but himself around me. The way he laughed. The look he got in his eyes when he was about to say something he knew was clever. The way he looked at while I talked, like I was all he had ever wanted in the entire world. — Kiersten White

I feel like I'm going crazy: seeing you every day but never being able to - to hold you, to touch you when anyone else is around. i just want to take your hand, kiss you, hug you, without having to hide all the time. All those things every other couple takes for granted! — Tabitha Suzuma

Loved. I hadn't even realized how desperetly I'd wanted love.How much we both needed to know that in a world of dark corners and sharp needles, there really is a place where kisses taste like apple pie and where stars spill like suger across the sky. A place where unknown roads no longer scare you because you have another hand to hold. A place where butterflies always flutter whenever you see each other, and a single touch tells you that you are not alone. A place where every kiss still feels like the first. In that place of us, Liv and Dean, love has its own poetry and language. Allure, quartrefoil, fleur-de-lis ... Professor. Beauty. — Nina Lane

I don't understand." Except, truthfully, I just didn't want to understand.
Pain shadowed across his face. "Darkness lives in me, Theia. Inside of me. Like a sickness. And right next to it, intertwined with it, are my feelings for you. If I act on one, I'll act on the other. The darkness in me wants you the way a black hole eats stars. I dream of tasting you, devouring you." His eyes darkened terribly.
"Haden, stop trying to frighten me."
He carried on as if he hadn't heard me. "This isn't a crush; it's an obsession. You are never not in my thoughts. Your scent carries across a room and paralyzes me with longing. I don't want to hold your hand. Part of me wants to set you on fire and hold you while the flame consumes us both, to eat your heart so I know that only I possess it entirely. Are you scared now? Does your human mind comprehend the danger at last? I'm not like you. I'm not human, not completely anyway. — Gwen Hayes

I don't know when love became elusive
what i know, is that no one i know has it
my fathers arms around my mothers neck
fruit too ripe to eat, a door half way open
when your name is a just a hand i can never hold
everything i have ever believed in, becomes magic.
i think of lovers as trees, growing to and
from one another searching for the same light,
my mothers laughter in a dark room,
a photograph greying under my touch,
this is all i know how to do, carry loss around until
i begin to resemble every bad memory,
every terrible fear,
every nightmare anyone has ever had.
i ask did you ever love me?
you say of course, of course so quickly
that you sound like someone else
i ask are you made of steel? are you made of iron?
you cry on the phone, my stomach hurts
i let you leave, i need someone who knows how to stay. — Warsan Shire

There was a movement to my right, and I snuck a quick glance to see Zee and Gabriel coming out the garage door. They must have gone back around. Zee had a crowbar in one hand and held it like another man might hold a sword. Gabriel had
"Zee," I squeaked. "Tell him to put the torque wrench back and grab something that won't cost me five hundred dollars if he hits someone with it."
"Won't cost five hundred," said Zee, but as I glanced over again, he nodded at the white-faced Gabriel, who looked at what he held as if he'd never seen it before. The boy slipped back into the garage as Zee said, "It wouldn't break it - you'd just have to get it recalibrated."
"We have a whole garage worth of tools - pry bars, tire irons, and even a hammer or two. There's got to be something better than my torque wrench he could have grabbed. — Patricia Briggs

You might have been my first, Kenna, but I'm a grown man with a brain and a heart. And I know it isn't going to feel like that with just anyone. I know." His arm tightened around her, crushing her even harder against his body. "Now, you're going to walk out of here holding my hand." "I don't hold hands," she breathed, staunchly ignoring the flip-flop in her chest cavity. "You hold my hand." In direct contradiction of his harshly delivered command, he kissed her temple with devastating gentleness. "You hold my hand, darlin'. — Tessa Bailey

I know what I'm looking for, my brain just can't get to it. It's like if you decided you wanted that glass of water, only your hand won't pick it up. You ask it nicely, you threaten it, but it just won't budge. You might finally get it to move, but then you grab the saltshaker instead, or you knock the glass and spill the water all over the table. Or by the time you get your hand to hold the glass and bring it to your lips, the itch in your throat has cleared, and you don't need a drink anymore. The moment of need has passed." "That sounds like torture, Mom." "It is." "I'm so sorry you have this." "Thanks. — Lisa Genova

this is real, and it is happening now, just as it happened before: We are under the big tree in my backyard, on that patch of dirt where we used to build fairy houses from moss and sticks and scraps of birch. It is late afternoon. All around us is golden light. We have been together all day, in our cutoff shorts and bare feet. It is the start of fifth grade, the start of being the oldest in the school. Next year, we will be the youngest all over again. But not yet. We are playing that hand-slapping game, the one we like to play at recess. You hold your hands out, palms up, and I place mine lightly on top. You pull yours out and try to slap mine. You hit air three times. On the fourth try, your — Ali Benjamin

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

Nick spreads cream cheese on my bagel for me because it's hard to do with one hand. You need to hold the bagel and everything.
"You are the nicest boyfriend ever," I tell him and kiss his cheek.
"Gag," Devyn says.
"You're just jealous," Nick teases him and points his plastic knife at Devyn. "Which is ridiculous because you are the star of the school now that the wheelchair is totally gone. Everyone is talking about you."
"Star of the school?" Devyn asks. He takes a swig of Gatorade.
"All the girls." Nick gestures to the girls giggling behind them. "They like miracles. It's sexy. Remember how much play Jay Dahlberg got when he came back from being abducted?" He does not add by pixies because he does not have to.
"Really?" Devyn does this cheesy and really fake eyebrow wiggle thing so he looks like some sleezy porn dog. — Carrie Jones

I have to go, Jenna", he whispered, sounding shaky, like he questioned the decision himself. He released the hold and squatted to retrieve his bag, leaving me to sway in the air, ready to collapse any second, as he walked away forever. And it ate me up inside. Forever.
"Evan?"
"Yeah?" he answered, turning back as his hand gripped the door.
"I do love you. And i never gave you anything less than everything i had to give" A solitary tear managed to break through my defenses. "And i'll always regret that it wasn't enough"
"Me, too" And just as he slid out into the hallway, marking the beginning of forever, he quietly added "Because i would've spent my life with you — Devon Ashley

I took a breath. Pictured the bed waiting for me upstairs. Then retreated to the lobby
bar alone and ordered an ice-cold gin martini, a small signal to myself that my work was
done. I held the glass, its inverted construction an insult to gravity and the order of things.
Just like our Movement, from the outside the balance of power seems all wrong. But hold a
martini glass in your hand and you know instinctively that it is just right. — Stuart Connelly

I don't think as a creator that I could create an experience that truly feels interactive if you don't have something to hold in your hand, if you don't have something like force feedback that you can feel from the controller. — Shigeru Miyamoto

The sun was like a huge 50-cent piece that someone had poured kerosene on and then had lit with a match, and said, "Here, hold this while I go get a newspaper," and put the coin in my hand, but never came back. — Richard Brautigan

And I'm left with this girl, this Siren of Mixed Signals, this Norah. She's a fuck-good kisser, but clearly has some massive consistency issues. I ask her how the fuck she knows Tris, because that is leaving me completely confused, and at first she's looking at me like I'm this guy she didn't just start kissing out of nowhere, but then she's got her hand on my arm in a way that makes me really notice I have an arm, and then she's making to run away, and at the same time looking at me like I'm some cancer child. Then I take hold of her arm and she resists without really resisting. Finally she pulls away, only to touch my face in this way that reminds me exactly of her kiss.Then she calls me you poor schmuck. — David Levithan

I've gradually fooled myself into becoming a real painter ... I really just like to sit in my air-conditioned Rome painting studio surrounded by Medieval and Renaissance architecture and to hold a tube of Alizarin Madder Lake in my artist's hand and marvel at the shiny goop inside. — Mark Kostabi

If you think it means I'm asking you to move in with me, you'd be right." Her expression turned more serious. "If you also think it means that I wake up every morning wondering what I did to deserve having you back in my life, well, you'd be right about that, too."
Jack just sat there for a moment, just ... stunned. No one had ever said anything like that to him.
"Come here," he said huskily. He grabbed her chair and pulled it toward his. He kissed her, softly at first, then his hand moved to her back and pushed her close as his emotions got the better of him. He pulled back to hold her gaze. "I love you, Cameron. You know that, right?"
She kissed him back, whispering the words in his ear. "I love you, too. — Julie James

Paul commands: 'Therefore, brethren, stand fast and hold the Traditions which you have been taught, whether by word or by our letter.' From this it is clear that they did not hand down everything by letter, but there is much also that was not written. Like that which was written, the unwritten too is worthy of belief. So let us regard the Tradition of the Church also as worthy of belief. Is it a Tradition? Seek no further. — Saint John Chrysostom

Are the values we hold dear and guide our lives by just social conventions, like driving on the right-hand versus left-hand side of the road? Or are they merely expressions of personal preference, like having a taste for certain foods? Or are they somehow valid and binding, independent of our opinion, and if they are objective in this way, what is their foundation? — William Lane Craig

It is such a gloriously beautiful May morning, I put my hand to the window and hold it against the glass; I want to see what my hand looks like before it becomes another kind of hand. I press my face to the window, and I think to myself, There will never be another day like this day. This day will end. — Kate Mulgrew

Kenji turns to look at me. He manages a goofy smile. "Aw, you trust me?"
"As long as I have a clear shot." I tighten my hold on the gun in my hand.
His grin is crooked. "I don't know why, but I kind of like it when you threaten me."
"That's because you're an idiot."
"Nah." he shakes his head. "You've got a sexy voice. Makes everything sound naughty."
Adam stands up so suddenly he nearly knocks over the coffee table. — Tahereh Mafi

I like that I have kids still willing to hold my hand. — Christine Taylor

It was the way your sweet, soft hands wiped away my tears, and the way your body just curved into mine when you let me hold you. It all made me feel, for just an instant, that everything really was going to be all right. No one has ever comforted me like that ... except my mom." What the fuck? Did I just say all that out loud? I shook my head furiously from side to side as the room started spinning me like a Tilt-a-Whirl at the county fair back home.
Abby grabbed my shoulders to steady me. I blinked my eyes trying to focus on her blurry, but beautiful image. "Most of all, it's that I want someone like you to want me - just for me, not for Jake Slater the singer of Runaway Train." I smacked my hand hard against my chest. "For what's really inside me. — Katie Ashley

You aren't going to go crazy," I said firmly. "You're stronger than you think. The next time you feel that way, find something to focus on, to remind you of who are."
"Like what? Got some magic object in mind?"
"Doesn't have to be magic," I said. I racked my brain. "Here." I unfastened the golden cross necklace. "This has always been good for me. Maybe it'll help you." I set it in his hand, but he caught hold of mine before I could pull back — Richelle Mead

My little heart, my little girl.
Dance with Daddy; dance, my pearl.
Hold my hand; dance with your feet.
Sing a little song; dance with the beat.
Dance with a smile; sing with joy.
Dance like a peacock; sing like a toy.
Dance with love; sing with kindness.
Life will be blissful, full with happiness.
Dance with Daddy; dance, my pearl.
My little heart, my little girl. — Debasish Mridha

Life follows the same routine-I wake up to nothing new or exciting. Everyday it's the same. Except some days, days like today, when I wake up with a powerful desire of going right back to sleep. Or maybe be spared the pain of having ever to wake up again. I'm just tired. Tired of the monotony, tired of pitying myself and my dad, tired of being a subject of sympathy who crosses my path, and of being so pathetically obsessed with a guy who doesn't give a shit about me. — Durjoy Datta

Why me?' he said. 'That's how all men answer. And all men have a knot on their shoes, something they don't know how to do; an inability that binds them to others. Society depends on this asymmetry between people these days: a dovetailing of skills and competence. But the Flood? If the Flood came and one needed a Noah? Not so much a just man as a man able to bring along the few things it would take to start again. You see, you don't know how to tie your shoes, somebody else doesn't know how to plane wood, someone else again has never read Tolstoy, someone else doesn't know how to sow grain and so on. I've been looking for him for years, and, believe me, it's hard, really hard; it seems people have to hold each other by the hand like the blind man and the lame who can't go anywhere without each other, but argue just the same. It means if the Flood comes we'll all die together. — Italo Calvino

Blay didn't shake the hand that was offered. He reached over, took a hold of the fighter's face, and drew Qhuinn in for a kiss. It was supposed to be only a split-seconder - like their lips were the ones doing the handshake thing. When he went to pull back, though, Qhuinn captured him, and held him in place. Their mouths met again ... and again ... and once more, their heads tilting to the sides, the contact lingering. "You're welcome," Blay said roughly. Then he smiled a little. "Can't say it was all a pleasure, though. — J.R. Ward

I believe in that goodly mansion, his heart, he kept one little place under the skylights where Lucy might have entertainment, if she chose to call. It was not so handsome as the chambers where he lodged his male friends; it was not like the hall where he accommodated his philanthropy, or the library where he treasured his science, still less did it resemble the pavilion where his marriage feast was splendidly spread; yet, gradually, by long and equal kindness, he proved to me that he kept one little closet, over the door of which was written " Lucy's Room." I kept a place for him, too - a place of which I never took the measure, either by rule or compass: I think it was like the tent of Peri-Banou. All my life long I carried it folded in the hollow of my hand - yet, released from that hold and constriction, I know not but its innate capacity for expanse might have magnified it into a tabernacle for a host. — Charlotte Bronte

Life isn't what you think it is. It's like water, and the young let it trickle away between their fingers without even noticing. Cup your hands, keep it safe. Life eventually becomes something else, something hard, something simple, something you can hold in your hand and nibble on contentedly as you sit in the sun. — Jean Anouilh

One of the most marvelous things I experienced was that you hold another one's hand in your hand, you feel the pulse, then it becomes slower and slower, then that's it. It's something enormous. Then you still hold that hand, then the nurse comes in, bringing with her the number for the corpse. The nurse wheels her out once more and says: "Come back later." Then you are immediately confronted with life again. You calmly get up and put things in order; in the meantime the nurse comes back and attaches the number to the corpse, you empty the bedside cabinet, the nurse says: "Don't forget the yogurt, you have to take it too." Outside you hear the crows -- it's like a theatrical play.

Then the bad conscience comes. A dead person leaves you with an immense guilt. — Thomas Bernhard

The first time I actually heard any of the Beatles' music it was in a car. I think it was the, the B side of their first record. I think it was "I Want to ... I Want to Hold Your Hand". And it, it really sounded different to me. And it sounded a bit like trouble, like this is something new 'cause I very rarely paid any attention to what anyone else was doing. — Jeff Barry

I'm somewhat disgusted at myself for thinking such dramatic, girlie thoughts. But I can't help myself. He rocks my world.
You know how parents always say things like, "If all your friends jumped off a cliff, would you jump too?"
Well, if Carter jumped off a cliff, I wouldn't just jump off after him. I'd throw myself over the ledge and dive toward the earth below so I could catch up with him and hold his hand while we plummeted to our deaths.
Yeah.
I'm that much of a sicko. — Chelsea Fine

If you see me with my face all black, don't be frightened. If you see me flapping wings like a bat's, as big as the whole sky, don't be frightened. If you hear me raging ten times worse than Mrs. Bill, the blacksmith's wife - even if you see me looking in at people's windows like Mrs. Eve Dropper, the gardener's wife - you must believe that I am doing my work. Nay, diamond, if I change into a serpent or a tiger, you must not let go your hold of me, for my hand will never change in yours if you keep a good hold. If you keep a hold, you will know who I am all the time, even when you look at me and can't see me the least like the North Wind. I may look something very awful. Do you understand? — George MacDonald

It was her favorite cup, emerald-green china with a rim of silver, and sturdy enough to drink from half awake without worrying that she'd crush it, the last unbroken one of a set used for company meals when she was still in Granny School. She despised the cups her mother and grandmother chose to start their days with, delicate white porcelain with the Brightwater Crest on the side, big enough to hold maybe three good swallows, and so frail they felt like eggshells in your hand. She could face those later in the day if need be, but not before breakfast, and at no time did she admire them. — Suzette Haden Elgin

Would you like to hold my sword?" He asked the question with a gleam in his eyes.
Lucy burst out laughing. At least she didn't giggle again. "You did not just say that. But, um, yeah, I'd like to hold your sword, Agent Riley."
Hunter grinned and unzipped his backpack, pulling out something surprisingly small. He held it out to her, and noticed the disappointed look on her face. "Expecting something bigger?"
She smirked at his continued play on words. She had a lifetime of training in verbal and physical sparring; he was no match for her. "They say size doesn't matter, but I disagree."
Hunter, who apparently hadn't expected her response, choked on his own comeback and unsheathed the sword, then placed it in her hand. "You have to stroke it a certain way to make it bigger. — Kimberly Kinrade

Do you regret it, amira?"
"Regret . . . what?"
"Meeting me. Knowing me." He searched my face. "Loving me."
Everything seemed to stop at the word; it hung in the air between us, tangible and real. "No," I said at last. "No."
"But you fear you will someday. That's why you hold back. That's why you want to know you can change things before you commit." He let go of my hand and stood. The distance between us ached like the cold of a winter sea. "You watched your father chase your mother for years, and you wished he didn't love her. What will you do to my memory when I'm gone? Will you chase it like a dragon? Or will you banish it like smoke? — Heidi Heilig

You always say the right thing
I don't remember you saying wrong
You make me laugh
All the time

Always there for me you've never been gone
You make me feel like I belong
When I'm with you there's never
Anyone else

Hold me close when I'm feeling down
When I wake up you're still around
When I am cold
You warm me up

You always smile when I'm frowning
Hold my hand when I'm crying
Somehow you
cheer me up

I'm so lucky to have
A friend like you
But somehow
I want more
I'm afraid to lose you
But I can't stand to
Not tell you
I need you,
Just a little more

Perfect guy
Perfect friend
Why can't you be mine?
I just want
To be a little more than friends
Perfect guy
Perfect friend
Why can't you just
Be mine? — Alysha Speer

I was caged by him like a bird with clipped wings. I could flutter but I couldn't escape though I'm not certain I'd want to even if I could. — Paloma Beck