Put Your Hands On My Throat Quotes & Sayings

He came up behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders; bending low, he put his lips close to the nape of her neck. "How about a kiss for your jailbird brother?" he said.
She turned halfway, as if to touch her lips to his cheek but he slid a palm down her back and tipped her face up to his and kissed her full on the mouth - not a brotherly kiss, there was no mistaking it for that, but a long, slow, greedy kiss, messy and voluptuous. His bathrobe fell slightly open as his left hand sank from her chin to neck, collarbone, base of throat, his fingertips just inside the edge of her thin polka-dot shirt and trembling over the warm skin there. — Donna Tartt

I remembered from movies and TV that a human being striking a window could cause it to shatter, but the glass was too strong or I was too weak. My body didn't do much anymore when I put it to things. I didn't even make much noise pounding my fist against the glass: the ones that turned to look dismissed me almost before they had swiveled their heads. I might have been a painting of a hysterical female, paused in motion and screaming decoratively. But my throat was going raw, and my hands hurt dully. — Alexandra Kleeman

She shifted her grip on him so her arms linked around his neck. "I love you." And kissed him, soft, slow, deep. "I love you. I love you. I'm just going to keep saying it," she told him as she pressed her body to his. "Racking them up, so I have a supply built up for when I forget to say it. I love who you are, what you are, how you talk, how you look at me."

Her lips roamed over his face, down his throat, along his jaw, coming back to his with soft, sumptuous seduction. "I love your body, how you make me feel. I love your face, your mouth, your hands. Put your hands on me, Roarke. Put your hands on me. — J.D. Robb

You need to put your hands around the throat of your business, and you need to run it. There's no other way. — Kevin Plank

How did it make you feel? — Irvine Welsh

My life is a story and you're my supporting character. — Amani

I need to check in with Seth before I
" he burrowed his face into the side of her neck, his breath almost painfully warm on her throat
"give in to my unconscionable desire to put my hands on you properly. — Melissa Marr

Hawk was like a man gone mad. He'd hardly slept all night for worrying about her, and here she was, calmly riding back to Fort Laramie and her lover. He longed, at that moment, to put his hands around her slender throat and choke some sense into her. — Kat Martin

She turns the speedometer off. Running totally black now. Precipitating her way toward the sweet 'crete of the creek bottom like a black angel who has just had the shroud lines of her celestial parachute severed by the Almighty. And when the wheels finally meet the pavement, it just about drives her knees up through her jawbone. She finishes the whole gravitational transaction with not much altitude and a nasty head of dark velocity. — Neal Stephenson

Jen put her hands on her hips and pinned Sally with the famous 'you're going to spit it out or I'm going to rip it out of you' look. "You talked?" Jen asked sarcastically. "Sally," she cleared her throat then continued, "you have a mate. A guaranteed husband. A sure thing. Not to mention he's hot, funny, sweet, and he has a dimple. You talked?" She repeated. This time Jen's voice was skeptical. Before Sally could defend herself, however, her door opened slowly, calculatingly.
"I know you weren't describing me Jennifer. So who is this male who has caught your eye so descriptively? Please do tell, so that I can rip him to pieces." Decebel's power filled the room and Sally took an involuntary step away from the very angry Alpha. — Quinn Loftis

I would like to use this little flower as a metaphor. The five petals of the little forget-me-not flower prompt me to consider five things we would be wise never to forget ... first, forget not to be patient with yourself ... second, forget not the difference between a good sacrifice and a foolish sacrifice ... third, forget not to be happy now ... fourth, forget not the why of the gospel ... fifth, forget not that the Lord loves you. — Dieter F. Uchtdorf

If it weren't for dreams," he said. "I wouldn't know half the things I know about the future. They're better than Olympus tabloids." He cleared his throat then held up his hands dramatically:
"Dreams like a podcast,
Downloading truth in my ears.
They tell me cool stuff"
"Apollo?" I guessed, because I figured nobody else could make a haiku that bad.
He put his finger to his lips, "[Shh] I'm incognito. Call me Fred. — Rick Riordan

I could feel the warmth of the dog through my nightgown; I must have gotten hot during the night and thrown off the sheet. I drowsily patted the animal's head and began to stroke his fur, my fingers running idly through the thick hair. He wriggled even closer, sniffed my face, put his arm around me.
His *arm*?
I was off the bed and shrieking in one move.
In my bed, Sam propped himself on his elbows, sunny side up, and looked at me with some amusement.
"Oh, ohmyGod! Sam, how'd you get here? What are you doing? Where's Dean?" I covered my face with my hands and turned back, but I'd certainly seen all there was to see of Sam.
"Woof," said Sam, from a human throat, and the truth stomped over me in combat boots.
I whirled back to face him, so angry I felt like I was going to blow a gasket.
"You watched me undress last night, you ... you ... damn dog! — Charlaine Harris

The perfection preached in the gospels never yet built an empire. Every man of action has a strong dose of egotism, pride, hardness, and cunning. — Charles De Gaulle

Ravana all your wealth is wasted, what's the use of being rich if you won't spend your gold to do good for other people? — William Buck

Many causes may vitiate a writer's judgement of his own works. On that which has cost him much labour he sets a high value, because he is unwilling to think that he has been diligent in vain: what has been produced without toilsome efforts is considered with delight as a proof of vigorous faculties and fertile invention; and the last work, whatever it be, has necessarily most of the grace of novelty. — Samuel Johnson

You see her as this broken little thing that needs you to take care of her. She doesn't need that. She might have been broken at one time, but she's not fucking broken now. She's put it all back together. She's made a life for herself, and you're trying to change it. It's kind of like she's built this fortress around herself, brick by fucking brick, and you might think a fortress is too much, but it's not. Do you know why?"
I can only sit and stare at him.
"Do you want to know why?" he asks.
I nod. My heart is in my fucking throat.
"Because she fucking lives there, Paul. It's home for her. It's safe and it's secure and it's hers. And she built it with her own two hands. So for you to swoop in and not only try to move her out of her fortress but also to tear it down, you're fucking up everything she's worked for. — Tammy Falkner

Our frog lies on her back. Waiting for a prince to come and princessify her with a smooch? I stand over her with my knife. Ms. Keen's voice fades to a mosquito whine. My throat closes off. It is hard to breathe. I put out my hand to steady myself against the table. David pins her froggy hands to the dissection tray. He spreads her froggy legs and pins her froggy feet. I have to slice open her belly. She doesn't say a word. She is already dead. A scream starts in my gut - I can feel the cut, smell the dirt, leaves in my hair. I don't remember passing out. David says I hit my head on the edge of the table on my way down. The nurse calls my mom because I need stitches. The doctor stares into the back of my eyes with a bright light. Can she read the — Laurie Halse Anderson

If I wanted shit, I would have visited the privy, not asked for an audience with you. — Kiersten White

In order to grow your audience, you must betray their expectations. — Hayao Miyazaki

Cold were the lips, yet he kissed them. Salt was the honey of the hair, yet he tasted it with a bitter joy. He kissed the closed eyelids, and the wild spray that lay upon their cups was less salt than his tears.
And to the dead thing he made confession. Into the shells of its ears he poured the harsh wine of his tale. He put the little hands round his neck, and with his fingers he touched the thin reed of the throat. Bitter, bitter was his joy, and full of strange gladness was his pain. — Oscar Wilde

Mouth to continue, Haymitch plummets off the stage and knocks himself unconscious. He's disgusting, but I'm grateful. With every camera gleefully trained on him, I have just enough time to release the small, choked sound in my throat and compose myself. I put my hands behind my back and stare into the distance. I can see the hills I climbed this morning with Gale. For a moment, I yearn for something ... the idea of us leaving the district ... making our way in the woods ... but I know I was right about not running off. Because who else would have volunteered for Prim? Haymitch is whisked away on a stretcher, and Effie Trinket is trying to get the ball rolling again. What an — Suzanne Collins

Oh, don't be afraid of dreams," a voice said right next to me. I looked over. Somehow, I wasn't surprised to find the homeless guy from the rail yard sitting in the shotgun seat. His jeans were so worn out they were almost white. His coat was ripped, with stuffing coming out. He looked kind of like a teddy bear that had been run over by a truck. "If it weren't for dreams," he said, "I wouldn't know half the things I know about the future. They're better than Olympus tabloids." He cleared his throat, then held up his hands dramatically: "Dreams like a podcast, Downloading truth in my ears. They tell me cool stuff." "Apollo?" I guessed, because I figured nobody else could make a haiku that bad. He put his finger to his lips. "I'm incognito. Call me Fred." "A god named Fred?" "Eh, well ... Zeus insists on certain rules. Hands off, when there's a human quest. Even when something really major is wrong. But nobody messes with my baby sister. Nobody." "Can — Rick Riordan

Is it a small thing to quench the flames of hell with the holy tears of pity
to unbind the martyr from the stake
break all the chains
put out the fires of civil war
stay the sword of the fanatic, and tear the bloody hands of the Church from the white throat of Science?
Is it a small thing to make men truly free
to destroy the dogmas of ignorance, prejudice and power
the poisoned fables of superstition, and drive from the beautiful face of the earth the fiend of fear? — Robert G. Ingersoll

And then I get it. The 318s have somehow decided to make me do the things that are in my notebook. All the things I'm afraid of. The things I've been writing since the seventh grade. And if I don't, they're going to post the book on the internet, and everyone at school, no, everyone with an internet connection, will know all my secrets. For a second, it feels like my throat swallows up my heart and my breath catches in my throat. There's only one thing left to do. I put my head in my hands and start to cry. — Lauren Barnholdt

I wish I could break this window. Step through it. But I can't break this window. I can't even find some less dramatic way to die inside of this school, like hanging myself or slitting my wrists, because what would they do with my body? It might put everyone at risk. I won't let myself do that.
I'm not selfish like Lily.
I hate her. I hate her so much my heart tries to crawl out of my throat but it gets stuck there and beats crazily in the too narrow space. I bring my hands to my neck and try to massage it back down. I pres so heard against the skin, my eyes sting, and then I'm hurrying back down the stairs, back to the first floor. I think of Trace running laps, something he can control. — Courtney Summers

We ourselves, though we're guilty of every sin, are not just a work of God: we're image. Yet we have cut ourselves off from our Creator in both soul and body. Did we get eyes to serve lust, the tongue to speak evil, ears to hear evil, a throat for gluttony, a stomach to be gluttony's ally, hands to do violence, genitals for unchaste excesses, feet for an erring life? Was the soul put in the body to think up traps, fraud, and injustice? I don't think so. — Tertullian

At first he thought he felt bad because he was afraid of leading an army, but it wasn't true. He knew he'd make a good commander. He felt himself wanting to cry. He hadn't cried since the first few days of homesickness after he got here. He tried to put a name on the feeling that put a lump in his throat and made him sob silently, however much he tried to hold it down. He bit down on his hand to stop the feeling, to replace it with pain. It didn't help. — Orson Scott Card