My Forehead Quotes & Sayings

About twenty pages into Luke B. Goebel's Fourteen Stories, None of Them Are Yours, I realized I was reading with one hand holding my forehead and one balled at my waist, kind of clenched, and gazing down into the paper like a man soon to be converged upon. Goebel's testimony comes on like that: engrossing, fanatical, full of private grief, and yet, at the same time, charismatic, tender, and intrepid, aglow with more spirit than most Americans have the right to wield. — Blake Butler

I felt the back of my neck crawl. The crawling reached around to the corners of my jaw, then up to my temple, and across my cheeks.

I reached up to touch it. Splinters, small fingers, hooks. Scraping at my fingertips, gouging. Slowly reaching for my eyes, reaching for my remaining flesh.

Tiny, like the legs of spiders, pincers, fish hooks, they stabbed and set themselves into the flesh that remained, around my mouth, near my eyes, at my forehead. Then they stopped. Waited.

Asking. Offering. A deal with the devil, metaphorically speaking.

Give up your face if you truly want wings. Give up your eyes.

I could hear the dragon screech, not all that far away. This crisis I faced was removed from a very large, very real crisis that threatened people and Others I cared a great deal about.

Do it, and you can fly. Fly, and you might be able to do something to save them. — Wildbow

I'm adorable, first off. My sense of humor is stellar - obvs."
"Obvs," she echoes dryly.
"I'm extraordinarily skilled in the art of conversation."
She nods. "When it's about yourself, of course."
"Of course." I pretend to think it over some more. "Oh, and I'm a mind reader. No lie. I always know what the other person is thinking."
"Yeah? What am I thinking right now?" Allie challenges.
"That you want me to shut up and fuck you again."
She shakes her head in dismay. "Goddamn it. That's actually what I was thinking."
I smirk at her and tap my forehead. "Told ya. Mind reader. — Elle Kennedy

My ugly one, I love you for your waist of gold,
my beauty, I love you because of a wrinkle on your forehead,
love, I love you because you are clear and dark. — Pablo Neruda

Yeah, I must have been really bad in a past life or something." He smiled, his eyes still in pain. Reaching up, he touched a strand of mt hair. " Don't leave, OK?"
"Shhh. I'm not going anywhere." I kept stroking his forehead, trailing my fingers across it. His muscular shoulders gradually relaxed, his eyes closing again. His breathing slowed, became more regular.
I could hear the TV on in the other room, the sound of voices. None of it mattered to me. I stayed there until long after Alex had fallen asleep
gently caressing the vbrow of the boy I loved, trying to keep his pain at bay. — L.A. Weatherly

Hayati?"

"Yeah, that one. What does it mean?"

He was quiet for so long she had started to think he'd never answer. "There is no English translation for this name," he finally said.

She smiled. "Try. Get as close as you can."

His dark eyes searched her gaze. "It means, my life."

Her forehead wrinkled. "My life?"

Hani pulled her head down and forced her to rest against his chest. He said nothing for a suspended moment and then, "My life," he murmured. "My love. — Jaid Black

When other girls had tea parties on the playground, I brought out my secondhand Ouija board and attempted to raise the dead. While my classmates gave book reports on The Wind In The Willows or Charlotte's Web, I did mine on tattered, paperback copies of Stephen King novels that I'd borrowed from my grandmother. Instead of Sweet Valley High, I read books about zombies and vampires. Eventually, my third grade teacher called my mother in to discuss her growing concerns over my behavior, and my mom nodded blithely, but failed to see what the problem was. When Mrs. Johnson handed her my recent book report on Pet Sematary,, my mom wrinkled her forehead with concern and disapproval. "Oh, I see,"she said disappointingly, as she turned to me. "You spelled 'cemetery' wrong." Then I explained that Stephen King had spelled it that way on purpose, and she nodded, saying, "Ah. Well, good enough for me. — Jenny Lawson

Too bad you didn't just take Max up on his offer, Four. Well, too bad for you, anyway," says Eric quietly as he clicks the bullet into its chamber. My lungs burn; I haven't breathed in almost a minute. I see Tobias's hand twitch in the corner of my eye, but my hand is already on my gun. I press the barrel to Eric's forehead. His eyes widen, and his face goes slack, and for a second he looks like another sleeping Dauntless soldier. My index finger hovers over the trigger. "Get your gun away from his head," I say. "You won't shoot me," Eric replies. "Interesting theory. " I say. — Veronica Roth

He listen something in my voice because he look up immediately. His eyes as blue as July sky. His long yellow hair fall like sunshine on his forehead and my finger burn from not touching it. — Thrity Umrigar

I'm His girl. You don't mess with God's girl. I got a sign on my forehead that says: You better be nice to me, for my Father owns the world. — Gianna Jessen

I leaned in to give him a hug and he stopped me with his hand to my forehead.
"You don't want to do that, son."
I stepped back and gave him a sympathetic look.
"Nam, huh? Still hard for you to get close to people?" I asked.
"No. I'm still not sure you aren't gay and if you try to play grab-ass, it's gonna get real awkward when
I have to snap your fingers in two. — Tara Sivec

It never was anything very splendid at the best," said he. He lifted the lamp from the table with a sort of abstraction, not remarking even my offer to take it from him, and led the way. He was on the verge of seventy, and looked his age; but it was a vigorous age, with no symptom of giving way. The circle of light from the lamp lit up his white hair and keen blue eyes and clear complexion; his forehead was like old ivory, his cheek warmly colored; an old man, yet a man in full strength. He was taller than I was, and still almost as strong. As he stood for a moment with the lamp in his hand, he looked like a tower in his great height and bulk. I reflected as I looked at him that I knew him intimately, more intimately than any other creature in the world, - I was familiar with every detail of his outward life; could it be that in reality I did not know him at all? * — Mrs. Oliphant

A tear dropped from my cheek to his forehead. "Please don't die," I whispered. — Colleen Houck

A giant wields a rusty saw. He gloats and hums as he works, slicing through my forehead and into the mind behind it. — E. Lockhart

He kisses each of my eyelids and hovering his mouth over mine, he talks around my lips. "Ever since I met you, no one else has been worth thinking about."
I open my eyes, and he presses his forehead to mine as he continues, "I feel like fate has brought us together again. I also believe that one night, so long ago, just wasn't the right time for us. But tonight is. — Kim Karr

Current relationship status?" Her voice cut like an arctic chill blowing through the room.
"If you mean me, then you're not my type. If you mean my dad, he's single, but I don't think you're his type either," I said with a small smile. Mercy didn't find it amusing. A small blue vein in her forehead started throbbing like crazy ... "Actually, come to think of it, I don't think he has a type. I've never seen him with a woman.
Mercy, I hate to break it to you, but there's a very real possibility my dad is gay. — Jus Accardo

Time, That Is Pleased to Lengthen out the Day

Time, that is pleased to lengthen out the day
For grieving lovers parted or denied,
And pleased to hurry the sweet hours away
From such as lie enchanted side by side,
Is not my kinsman; nay, my feudal foe
Is he that in my childhood was the thief
Of all my mother's beauty, and in woe
My father bowed, and brought our house to grief.
Thus, though he think to touch with hateful frost
Your treasured curls, and your clear forehead line,
And so persuade me from you, he has lost;
Never shall he inherit what was mine.
When Time and all his tricks have done their worst,
Still will I hold you dear, and him accurst. — Edna St. Vincent Millay

My forehead hit the table again with a thud. Ow. The words left me in a rush.
"I'm-fucking-the-married-closeted-father-of-my-only-close-friend-in-the-entire-world-and-his-wife-is-going-to-be-here-in-two-weeks."
I heard the hiss as Robin sucked his breath in between his teeth. "Ouch."
"Yeah." I sighed, my forehead rubbing against the table as I nodded miserably. At least he didn't try to deny the idiotic part.
"You know there's absolutely no way that can end well."
"Duh. — Amelia C. Gormley

Hands grab me, steady me. I jerk back, but they are surprisingly gentle. He doesn't smile as I turn to see his face. He just stands there, letting me inspect him. He's tall with a wide forehead and dark blond hair that's cut short. His green eyes are deeply set beneath that forehead. His lips are wide and rugged like the rest of him. His hands have huge knuckles like he's a boxer or arthritic or hits walls. He looks like he did when he pulled me out of the car, but stronger, taller somehow. He must be completely healed. He looks my age and he looks good, like the guy in high school that everyone, even the teachers, fall in love with. — Carrie Jones

Ridge: Oh, and btw, I didn't write that on your forehead.
What? I run to the dresser and look in the mirror for the first time today. Written across my forehead in black ink, it says: Someone wrote on your forehead. — Colleen Hoover

Yesterday he told me he thought I would have to pretend to be weak, but he was wrong. I am weak already. I brace myself against the wall and press my forehead to my hands. It's difficult to take deep breaths, so I take short, shallow ones. I can't let this happen. They attacked me to make me feel weak. I can pretend they succeeded to protect myself, but I can't let it become true. — Veronica Roth

He pulls away slowly, resting his forehead against mine, noses touching while his hand slips down to my ass. "This isn't going to be easy," he says softly.
"I know."
"Don't forget about me." He kisses me on the forehead.
"Don't stop being an asshole," I remind him. "Or people will think something's up."
He grins at me and smacks my ass. "That can be arranged. I'll see you, Freckles. — Karina Halle

...every day we fill up with anxiety just makes life much harder than it needs to be." Those are words I need tattooed to my forehead! — John I. Snyder

This flirting is all well and good, but I mean it when I tell you, I cant have you leaving me again. It almost broke me."
My ribs seemed to squeeze all of the air out of my lungs at the thought. "I don't think I could. I don't want to be away from you again either."
"But you need to give me a chance to fix things when I screw up. You know I'm an ass sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
Growling, he whispered, "And I tear lingerie."
I pushed a curl off his forehead, "And hoard it. Don't forget the creepy hoarding. — Christina Lauren

I cannot come with you, my prince," he said with great tenderness, as he kneeled over the sleeping Neriah and placed the chain around his neck. "But perhaps, when you sleep, you will dream of me." He touched his hand to Neriah's forehead and whispered, "Now, forget me. — Shira Anthony

He got himself dressed at last, and then, slowly, for he was
sorely bruised and could not go fast, he proceeded to the stable,
followed by all who were present, and going up to Dapple embraced
him and gave him a loving kiss on the forehead, and said to him, not
without tears in his eyes, "Come along, comrade and friend and partner
of my toils and sorrows; when I was with you and had no cares to
trouble me except mending your harness and feeding your little
carcass, happy were my hours, my days, and my years; but since I
left you, and mounted the towers of ambition and pride, a thousand
miseries, a thousand troubles, and four thousand anxieties have
entered into my soul; — Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra

Is there anything else you need from me?" Ranger asked.
"Not right now."
"There will come a time," Ranger said. "Let me know when." And he disconnected.
I opened the freezer and stuck my head in to cool off. If there'd been any more innuendo in that conversation, I could have fried an egg on my forehead. — Janet Evanovich

Daniel," she whispers.
I groan and drop my forehead to hers, touching her cheek with my hand. "You make me love my name so damn much. — Colleen Hoover

In two easy strides, I reach her, weave my arms around her waist and lift her feet off the ground. My angel is so light she practically floats. "Isaiah! You're crazy!"
"Insane," I answer.
She rests her forehead against mine and braids her hands tightly on my neck. "That was close. He almost got you in the end."
I love the sensation of her body against mine. Tonight, I'm going to kiss her again and, if she'll let me, I'll explore a little further. "Were you doubting me?"
She smiles when she notices the lightness in my voice. "Never."
That's right, angel. I'll never let you down. — Katie McGarry

Then, that memorably powerful look into my eyes told me something more: compared to dogs, wolves are grown-ups. He was not asking for help, head down, forehead wrinkled, as a dog might: "Is this right? What do you want?" Instead, head high, gaze level, he was assessing me, like a poker player: "Are you in or out?" Judging that I was in, he made his move; and we both won. — Karen Pryor

Casey rested his forehead on his hands and began to recite his list of get-rid-of-my-erection-now things. "Wrinkly old testicles with masses of gray hair. Applying hemorrhoid cream. Rotten eggs broken in the house. Tennis shoes that haven't been washed for years. Moldy cabbage. Three-day-old roadkill. Toilets that don't flush properly. Accidentally using sports rub for lubricant. — Renae Kaye

She made the choice she thought was best for her, even though it was the wrong one. But that's what you have to remember ... she made that choice. Not you. And you can't blame yourself for not knowing what she failed to tell you." I kiss him on the forehead, then bring my eyes back to his. "You have to let it go. You can hold on to the hate and the love and even the bitterness, but you have to let go of the blame. The blame is what's tearing you down. — Colleen Hoover

We need to tell your brother."
And that would be terrifying. For Jase. But I smiled. "Maybe I'll just update my Facebook to 'in a relationship' and tag you?"
Jase snickered and then dropped another kiss on my forehead. "That should go over well. — J. Lynn

I rolled back onto the lawn and pressed my forehead to the ground again and made the noise that Father calls groaning. I make this noise when there is too much information coming into my head from the outside world. It is like when you are upset and you hold the radio against your ear and you tune it halfway between two stations so that all you get is white noise and then you turn the volume right up so that this is all can hear and then you know you are safe because you cannot hear anything else — Mark Haddon

When I saw you on the stairs before, I'd forgotten how beautiful you are,' he whispered against her skin.

'Spotty, not beautiful,' she corrected gently, running her finger along his crooked nose. 'Now you, you're beautiful.'

'I even missed your inferiority complex.' Max smiled and shifted against her.

'Not being inferior. It's a point of fact. I'm covered in zits,' Neve said and she didn't know why she felt the need to share that with Max but then she was glad that she had because he was kissing each one of the angry red bumps along her forehead and chin and cheeks, even though a few of them were starting to suppurate. 'Don't do that, it's completely unhygienic. Kiss my mouth instead. — Sarra Manning

Open your eyes, baby. Look at me." He pressed his forehead down to meet mine, my eyelids fluttering open at his command. "Look at me and tell me you don't want it."
I peered up at him with unsteady breaths, hearing his throat work when I tilted my lips to graze his. The contact was feather light, my heart hammering through my chest at the feel of it. "I'm looking," I breathed against him.
"Good. Because right now, all I want to do is rip your clothes off and make you come until you can't stand, and I want your eyes on me the whole time, are we clear?"
-Jackson and Emma — Rachael Wade

Thats why i'm staying here,"claire said."with you.tonight."shane took in a deep breath."clothes stay on." "mostly,"she agreed. "you know,your parents really are right about me."claire sighed."no,they're not.nobody knows you at all,i think.not your dad,not even michael.your a deep,dark mystery,shane."he kissed her for the first time since she'd entered the room,a warm press of lips to her forehead."i'm an open book." she smiled."i like books." "hey,we've got something in common." i'm taking off my shoes." "fine.shoes off." "and my pants." "dont push it claire. — Rachel Caine

Troy sighed with frustration. "Let me get this straight. We're stuck in the story of Romeo and Juliet and we can't get home without a magic charm from Shakespeare's quill, which doesn't exist in this world. However, we might be able to get home when the story ends, but if Romeo and Juliet don't meet, then we don't have a story. More important, we don't have an ending."
Friar Laurence tsk tsked. He placed his speckled hand on Troy's forehead. "Bless you, my son, but a fever has muddled your mind. — Suzanne Selfors

I have an image of
Turtle
right on the forehead.
She seems to go through the lobes of my brain. Sort of
like swimming. — Sandra Harner

My only regret," he gently tugged me back toward him, "would be leaving this world before naming you as my wife. If I die tomorrow, at least I'll have that to my credit." Wrapping his arms around my waist, he vowed, "You don't have to be queen ... but you will not fall into obscurity on a foreign world. You will bear the Omuran name, and I have to believe that will protect you." He brought his forehead to rest against mine, adding sorrowfully, "I have to believe that our family line wasn't meant to end with this. — M.A. George

Don't leave me," he whispered, his words making me shiver.
I covered his hands, which held my face, with mine and stared up into eyes that pleaded with to me to stay. "You scare me," I told him honestly.
He leaned down and rested his forehead against mine. He took deep, raspy breaths. "I scare myself," he said. — A Meredith Walters

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

And I'm just saying that by the end of these seven days or maybe a week from then, or a month, you'll say yes." He cupped my cheek and leaned inm pressing his forehead to mine. "And I'll be waiting. No matter how long it takes. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

We're coming up on Ritadaria," he told Syn. "Bet you never thought you'd be back here." "Not alive, anyway. What about you?" "As a tracer and tracker, I bill them, but it doesn't mean I like it here any more than you do. I try to avoid coming here to the planet as much as I can." Shahara frowned. "Aren't you afraid they'll arrest you?" Nero snorted. "I wasn't a convict, Dagan. I was an illegally purchased slave. My owner"-he sneered the term-"has no legal claim on me. And I'm no longer a kid learning my powers. I'm a full-grown man with an ax I want to bury in the forehead of anyone dumb enough to come at me. I defy the bastards to try something now."
- Nero, Syn, & Shahara — Sherrilyn Kenyon

I'm sorry."
"Be sorry you lied," he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Don't be sorry you loved him. That's part of you, part you have to let go, yeah, but still something that's made you who you are. — Richelle Mead

I'm not mad at you." He presses the cold cloth against my forehead. "I'm mad at myself. I did this. Well, Easton and I. I brought this on you. I'm Reed the Destroyer." He sounds sad. "Didn't you know that?"

"I don't like that name." He sits next to me, drawing the cloth around and around my face, down my neck and onto my shoulder. It feels heavenly.

"Yeah, and what would you call me instead?" I open my mouth and say, "Mine. — Erin Watt

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

I felt a warm hand touch my forehead. And then my cheek. I held my act steady though Akinli's touch made me feel more than awake.
"Where in the world did you come from, you beautiful, silent girl?" he whispered. — Kiera Cass

He pressed his cheek to my forehead. "I don't know," he said. "I think you're my strength. — Richelle Mead

Don't call me that," I muttered, banging my forehead into my locker. "And the tutoring went fabulous. Please kill me now." -Meghan Chase — Julie Kagawa

One last thing," he said. "Stop looking for me."
"I'm not looking for you." I scoffed.
He touched his index finger to my forehead, my skin absurdly warming under his touch. It didn't escape me that he couldn't seem to stop finding reasons to touch me. Nor did I miss that I didn't want him to stop. "Under all the layers, a part of you remembers. It's the part that came looking for me tonight. It's that part that's going to get you killed, if you're not careful."
We stood face-to-face, both of us breathing hard. The sirens were so close now.
"What am I supposed to tell the police?" I said.
"You're not going to talk to the police."
"Oh, really? Funny, because I plan on telling them exactly how you rammed that tire iron into Gabe's back. Unless you answer my questions."
He gave an ironic snort. "Blackmail? You've changed, Angel. — Becca Fitzpatrick

I hope your future includes me. I mean, someone has to continue to kick your butt in pool."
Noah laughed as he snagged his fingers around my belt loops and dragged me closer. "I was letting you win."
"Please." His eyes had about fallen out of his head when I'd sunk a couple of balls off the break. "You were losing. Badly." I wondered if he also reveled in the warmth of being this close again.
"Then I guess I'll have to keep you around. For good. You'll be useful during a hustle." He lowered his forehead to mine and his brown eyes, which had been laughing seconds ago, darkened as he got serious. "I have a lot I want to say to you. A lot I want to apologize for."
"Me, too. — Katie McGarry

There was a scream. From Logan. He stood just inside my open window. At the sight of me - and after the scream - he spun around and tried to duck out. In his panic, he miscalculated and slammed his forehead into the edge of the frame. The impact reeled him back. He stumbled and landed on his backside, holding his hand to his head, moaning. — A&E Kirk

Part of my interest was zoological. I's never seen a creature with so many freckles before. A Big Bang had occurred, originating at the bridge of her nose, and the force of this explosion had sent galaxies hurtling and drifting every end of her curved, warm-blooded universe. There were clusters of freckles on her forearms and wrists, an entire Milky Way spreading across her forehead, even a few sputtering quasars flung into the wormholes of her ears. — Jeffrey Eugenides

As she felt his fangs against her neck, she was in another world.
There was screaming. A woman was somewhere in agony. Everything was black, and the tormented scream was overwhelming, echoing through the emptiness. After the screaming subsided, there was panting, loud and steady, and it wasn't as dark anymore. There was a room visible now, in a reddish light. A pale man with black hair hovered over a woman dressed in white. She lay on a bed, looking disheveled and sweaty. Her brown-black hair clung to her wet forehead and shoulders. She was covered in blood. The man sat next to her, and held her close to him. He stroked her hair as her chest heaved desperately.
"I love you, my dearest Katerina," he said, cradling her in his strong arms. "Soon, we'll be together forever." Everything faded to black once more, and the woman stopped breathing. All was silent and still. — Dawn Bonney

Hey. Do you want a cracker?" a velvet voice asked me.
I didn't look up, I wasn't sure if he was even talking to me. Why would an attractive senior be talking to me?
"Hey, I'm talking to you," he said, a chuckle in his voice.
I slowly lifted my head peering at him from under my long lashes. His dark brown hair swept across his forehead, and his deep blue eyes made me gasp. He wore the ultimate laid back style, a white t-shirt and jeans. All he needed was a black leather jacket, and he would be the bad boy from my book. The smile on his face was breathtaking and I found myself unable to speak. — Felicia Tatum

I fall asleep and dream that Mama and my former psychologist are sitting across from me, at either end of the sofa, talking. And that, every once in a while, Mama leans forward to feel my forehead or straighten the pillow she has slipped under my head. In my dream, I hear the psychologist say: So your friend was in love with your husband? Was that why she told him about the slap? To make him leave you? "Or — Caroline Eriksson

See! I went a little farther, and I saw one who hung bleeding upon a tree, and the very sight of Him made my burden fall off my back (for I had groaned under a very heavy burden, but then it fell off). It was a strange thing to see, and I have never seen anything like it before. And while I stood looking up at the one hanging on the cross, three Shining Ones came to me. One of them testified that
my sins were forgiven; another stripped me of my rags and gave me this embroidered coat that you see; and the third gave me the mark that you see on my forehead and gave me this sealed scroll. And with that he plucked it out of his coat. — John Bunyan

Samuel pulled on the reins and slipped off the horse, then reached up to help Eliza down. She shuddered as his hands slithered around her waist. Bile inched up her throat again, as it had all day and she took a deep breath to keep it down. "Are you feeling well, my love?" he said, before kissing her forehead. "How do you imagine I'm feeling?" A satisfied grin laced his mouth. "I imagine you're eager to wed, as I am." "You can believe that, if it gives you pleasure." She glared and walked toward her sister. Donaldson — Amber Lynn Perry

Miss Murray is leaning on the door. "Ash, come on. It's time to go." Her hand is so tight on the handle, her knuckles are pale. She's looking at the floor. "Miss Murray?"
"What?" She doesn't move.
I stare at her face but she doesn't return the look. "I love you."
The air in the room has frozen, every atom suspended. Then her tense body slackens. Her hand loosens its grip on the door and she turns her head slowly towards me. She meets my gaze for a moment. Her eyes have dark rings under them. Her forehead is creased with worry. Her cheeks are pale. I want to make it all OK. I want to make her happy. I desperately want to touch her face.
"I know," she says quietly. — Liz Kessler

Sighing, he rubbed his forehead, leaving a smear of black ash. "I've temporally blocked the collective because I can't answer that many calls at once, but pretty soon, I'm going to be entertaining. Lots and lots of irate, angry demons in my tiny little living room. It will be embarrassing. My reputation will be utterly ruined. I don't have enough chairs," he finished nlightly, turning his lip in and chewing on it. (Al) — Kim Harrison

You're beautiful," he told me.
"I think you are, too."
"Goodnight, Freckles." He kissed me on the forehead, his lips lingering, and then he pulled away.
I caught his arm as he turned. "Holt?"
"Anything," was his reply.
Butterflies erupted in my belly. "Will you sleep with me?"
He glanced inside his room at the bed, then back at me. "Only if you promise not to try to take advantage of me." He widened his eyes like he was somehow scandalized.
I laughed. "Please. You'd like it."
"You're damn right. — Cambria Hebert

Look at me and tell me you don't want me to kiss you. Tell me you don't like it when I do this," he said, running his hand down my arm. "Tell me you don't like it when I touch your face." HE brushed his hands on both of my cheeks, moving up to my forehead and then back down. HE rubbed both thumbs over my lips. "Tell me you don't like it when I do this." He leaned hisjead closer, stopping just short of my lips. "Tell me to stop and I will. You're in charge, Missy. — Chelsea M. Cameron

As she trembled and laughed and blotted her eyes with her gloved fingers, Nick took her into his arms and tried to soothe her. "Easy ... Easy ... ," he whispered, while his hands moved gently over her shoulders and back. "Take a deep breath. Hush, everything's all right." The warm brand of his mouth pressed against her forehead, her wet lashes, her cheeks. "You're safe, Lottie. You're mine, my wife, and I'll take care of you. You're safe. — Lisa Kleypas

Every day for a week, sitting in my idling car, saying goodbye without saying anything at all - the touch of his hand, his forehead pressed to mine, the way he brushed my hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. And still, he hadn't kissed me. Not once. Nothing but that brief brush of his lips. I was beginning to go a little crazy. — Emme Rollins

Baby, football isn't my dream" he said, kissing my forehead. "You are". — Nicole Williams

My eyes flickered back and forth. Sweat beaded on my forehead and I felt the fluid suffuse my palms, a bastion of warm comfort in a moment of primal terror. — Wonderwall123

Trev, remember when I told you about the one thing I missed from my life before I met you?"
Kegan dropped his forearms onto his bent knees, leaned his forehead on them.
"You just met her. — Sherri Desbois

Don't worry," Marya whispered, kissing his forehead. "My old bones will follow yours soon enough. — Catherynne M Valente

No one answers when I knock. But I left a cake and a card on the porch last night, and this morning when I was jogging I noticed that it was gone."
"That could mean anything. Maybe raccoons took it," I suggest and then want to do a forehead smack. Discovering vampires has really thrown a wrench in my concept of reality if my first theory is cake-stealing raccoons. — A.M. Robinson

I love you."
"Why?" I ask, eyes drifting closed already.
"Because I can't picture a life without you," he whispers so low I barely catch it. "I don't want to."
I smile as much as I can with how sleepy I am. He didn't even rehearse that one.
His lips graze my forehead. "Why do you love me?"
"Because you say things like that."
"Wow. My answer was so much better than yours. — Cassie Mae

If my forehead were not like a diamond, harder than flint, I would display more holy fear and a far deeper contrition of spirit. Woe — Charles Haddon Spurgeon

But still, I'd be darned if I was going to be one of those Americans who stomp around Italy barking commands in ever-louder English. I was going to be one of those Americans who traversed Italy with my forehead knit in concentration, divining wordsw from their Latin roots and answering by wedging French cognates into Italian pronunciations spliced onto a standard Spanish verb conjugation. — Barbara Kingsolver

Every little prick out there wants me to lift them. I had this one kid from Oklahoma, big fat shitter he was. Legs as fat as a Downers forehead screaming Up, up, Hulk up! at me for ten minutes until I had no other choice. Fat fucker damn near put my back out and then his old man stiffs me with Canadian dollars. Canadian, can you believe that shit?! — David Louden

Hands are difficult. You would think they would be just five quick lines, but no, they have personalities as intimate as faces. Elizabeth's hands, for instance - they are fine hands, with long fingers that remind me of tapered candles. A person one has loved - the memory of their hands. Did they flutter or sit still? Dry? Moist? Cool on a hot forehead? What? That is what I wish to express in my paintings. The memory - of the movement - of very particular hands, even though they appear to be unmoving on canvas. — Sarah Ruhl

I never...." she says between kisses, "got to kiss your hurt away..." Another kiss.

"when we were little..." her lips move to my forehead. "and I always wanted to." ~ Sophie — Chelsea Fine

I felt the kiss still there on my forehead. Literally. It was frozen there. I could still feel it. I wanted to bronze it, like people do with baby shoes. I wanted to mount it and hang it over my mantelpiece. — Catherine Ryan Hyde

What I wanted was to bang by forehead against the steering wheel till it bled. Maybe the self-inflicted pain would help me clear my thought process. — Sue Grafton

She was rumpled, undone, her hair coming out of its elastic to curl in tendrils around her face. There was something I had to say to her, I thought, something necessary, something right at the tip of my tongue.
I guess she knew it before I did.
Leaning over, she smoothed my hair back from my forehead. I closed my eyes at her touch. And so it was a surprise when she kissed me on the lips. — Brittany Cavallaro

The tallest slugger touched my forehead, and I ignited like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. Shards of dazzling light rippled under my skin. I was the constellation Grus. The Trifid Nebula. I was the Big Bang, expanding endlessly through time and space forever.
"I thought I was dying. That I was going to expire on a cold slab, trapped inside an UFO, my body filled with every light that had ever existed. I couldn't imagine a better way to die. — Shaun David Hutchinson

Jimmy: One day, when I'm no longer spending my days running a sweet-stall, I may write a book about us all. It's all here. (slapping his forehead) Written in flames a mile high. And it won't be recollected in tranquillity either, picking daffodils with Auntie Wordsworth. It'll be recollected in fire, and blood. My blood. — John Osborne

Maybe," he whispers, his mouth against my forehead. "But it's been ages since I've felt as human as you make me feel. I've tried not to want you, but I cant bring myself to stay away. — Lisa Maxwell

I planted a kamikaze kiss on Jamie's cheek.
"FUCK," he shouted, wiping it off. "What if you killed me!" He threw a Skittle at my face. It hit my forehead.
"Ow!"
"Taste the rainbow bitch. — Michelle Hodkin

No, you're not." He sounds very confident. "Ava, you've found out the worst about me and not run a mile. Well, you did, but you came back." He kisses my forehead. "Do you honestly think I'm bothered about my age? — Jodi Ellen Malpas

His mouth was a little too wide and snaked from corner to corner. His nose had been broken a few times, and when you looked at him straight on like I was doing as I stared at him across the circle bar, you could really tell. But his eyes were beautiful, cunning and otherworldly. His hair was a controlled mess; wispy dark strands that swooped across his forehead with long sideburns. He had high cheekbones, a strong jawline. When you combined all the parts, they equaled so much more than the sum. He was exotically, dangerously beautiful.
He'd been mine once. He'd broken my heart once.
And he was here to kill me. He only needed to do that once, too. — Karina Halle

Keep me," I begged. "Please." "That's my line." His eyes locked on mine. "That's been my line all my life." "And now it's mine." I kissed his hands. "Let me stay." "And if something happens?" "You'll know you were kept." "Yeah." He sighed resting his forehead against mine. "And so will you." — Rachel Van Dyken

Oh great, you too. So now I wear this label 'Queer' emblazoned across my chest. Or I could always carve a scarlet 'L' on my forehead. Why does everyone have to put you in a box and nail the lid on it? I don't know what I am - polymorphous and perverse. Shit. I don't even know if I'm white. I'm me. That's all I am and all I want to be. Do I have to be something? — Rita Mae Brown

The old woman smiled sweetly at Fermin. My friend stroked her face and her forehead. She appreciated the touch of another skin like a purring cat. I felt a lump in my throat.
'A stupid question, wasn't it?' Fermin went on. 'What
you'd like is to be out there, dancing a foxtrot. You look like a dancer; everyone must tell you that.'
I had never seen him treat anyone with such delicacy, not even Bernarda. His words were pure flattery, but the tone and expression on his face were sincere.
'What pretty things you say,' she murmured in a voice that was broken from not having had anyone to speak to or anything to say. — Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Bless you, daugher of man, Carter said, his eyes luminous and almost silver now. He leaned down and kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes and caught my breath. His lips were both burning hot and icy cold. — Richelle Mead

I have wrinkles which are very evident. I will particularly say when I look at movie posters, 'You guys have airbrushed my forehead. Please, can you change it back?' — Kate Winslet

Whatever the tiny bubbles sitting beautifully on the surface of the absolutely delicious-looking skin around his forehead and neck were, they were doing a lot for his overall appearance ... and for my heart rate. — LIZ

So what are we, then?" I asked. "When someone asks who I am, what am I supposed to say?"
"You say, 'Hi, I'm Liv, Dean's very hot and sexy lady.'" I couldn't smother a giggle. "Seriously."
"Paramour?"
"No."
"Cuddle bunny?"
"God, no."
"Valentine? Sweetheart? Girlfriend?"
"Girlfriend." I rested my forehead against his chest. "I guess." "Not the best word, but it'll do in public." He kissed my
temple. "In private, you can just be my beauty. — Nina Lane

I don't want to want you this much," I whispered when our lips broke apart again.
His eyes searched mine, his gaze softening. "But you do."
"But I do."
"And you can't will the feeling away?"
I shook my head, looking at him as if he was going to give me some kid of antidote for this. Whatever this was.
"Neither can I," he said, placing his forehead against mine. "Neither can I. — Claire Contreras

I have a scar on my forehead. I was three years old, jumping on the bed with my brothers, and I fell off and hit my head on the dresser and cut it open, went to the hospital, got stitches, came home, went back on the bed, jumped with my brothers, fell again, and reopened the stitches. — Jamie-Lynn Sigler

I do have a point to all this," she continues. "There are like twenty people in that waiting room right now. Some of them are related to you. Some of them are not. But we're all your family." She stops now. Leans over me so that the wisps of her hair tickle my face. She kisses me on the forehead. "You still have a family," she whispers. — Gayle Forman

Cycles exist because they are excruciating to break. It takes an astronomical amount of pain and courage to disrupt a familiar pattern. Sometimes it seems easier to just keep running in the same familiar circles, rather than facing the fear of jumping and possibly not landing on your feet.
My mother went through it.
I went through it.
I'll be damned if I allow my daughter to go through it.
I kiss her on the forehead and make her a promise. It stops here. With me and you. It ends with us. — Colleen Hoover

I have this lock of hair that keeps falling across my forehead. It drives me mad. — William Boyd

I feel Him kiss my brow, a chill weight on my forehead. In the kiss is absolution, yes, but understanding as well. Understanding that it is He I serve, not the convent. His divine spark lives within me, a presence that will never leave. And I am but one of the many tools he has at his disposal. If I cannot act
if I refuse to act
that is a choice I am allowed to make. He has given me life, and all I must do to serve Him is live. Fully and with my whole heart. — R.L. LaFevers

I tried Botox once. Never again. It made my forehead freeze. — Donny Osmond

The work ... was ... so blinding that I could scarcely see afterwards, and the difficulty was increased by the fact that my microscope was almost worn out, the screws being rusted with sweat from my hands and forehead, and my only remaining eye-piece being cracked ... Fortunately invaluable oil-imraersion object-glass remained good. — Ronald Ross