Traced Hand Quotes & Sayings

First single. Fucking brilliant. Perhaps the most fucking brilliant song ever written. Because they nailed it. That's what everyone wants. Not 24-7 hot wet sex. Not a marriage that lasts a hundred years. Not a Porsche or a blow job or a million-dollar crib. No. They wanna hold your hand. They have such a feeling that they can't hide. Every single successful love song of the past fifty years can be traced back to 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand.' And every single successful love story has those unbearable and unbearably exciting moments of hand-holding. Trust me. I've thought a lot about this.

About "I wanna hold your hand" by The Beatles — David Levithan

There isn't going to be a next time. I mean it, Alan," she said jerkily as he traced a line down the back of her hand with his fingertip. "I wouldn't be here if you hadn't locked me out of my house. Don't touch me that way," she added in a furious undertone.
"How would you like me to touch you? You have very sensitive hands," he murmured before she could answer. He grazed a thumb over her knuckle and felt the quick tremor. Tonight, he promised himself, he was going to feel that tremor again-at every pulse point. "How many times did you think of me this week? — Nora Roberts

Blake studied the satisfied expression on Eliza's face. Like a cat just finished the last bowl of cream. His hand rose involuntarily - how he'd like to strike her! Elisa barely flinched. But Blake wasn't going to assault the woman. Instead he dropped his hand slightly and carefully traced his finger down her cheek until it rested above a strategically placed, heart-shaped beauty spot. He peeled off the tiny piece of black leather and held it between his index finger and thumb, studying it with apparent fascination.
"We have one thing in common, Aunt 'Lizzie'. We have both lost our hearts. But our likeness stops there. Unlike you, I wish to find mine." After flicking her beauty spot onto the floor, he stepped on it and strode out of her parlour. — Tanya Kaley

In music, consonant chords are point of arrival. Rest. There's no tension. Most pop music hooks are consonant, which is why most people like them. They're catchy but interchangeable. Boring. Dissonant Intervals, however are full of tension, you can't predict which way they're going to go. It makes limited people uncomfortable
frustrated, because they don't understand the point, and people hate what they don't understand. But the ones who get it,"
he said, lifting a hand to my face,
"find it fascinating. Beautiful."
He traced the shape of my mouth with his thumb.
"Like you. — Michelle Hodkin

But I do," the king said. "I mean a great deal of harm to stupid girls who become too curious. Now, let's see. One listens to private conversations with the ears. So perhaps I should slice yours from your head and have you wear them as a necklace as an example for everyone else." He held his hand out to a guard, who placed a dagger in it. She whimpered as he traced the edge of the blade along the side of her face. "But you see with your eyes. I can take those as well. Pluck them out of your head right now. I'm quite good at it. You'd barely feel a thing. I've found that those with bloody holes in their face tend to learn from their mistakes. — Morgan Rhodes

It has a reputation for being dangerous." His hand caressed her soft skin. "Take off your jeans."
She smiled up at him. "I can see it is dangerous. Now, why would I want to do something that is obviously going to get me in big trouble?"
His hand stroked her waist, traced each rib under her satin skin. He could feel her tremble in answer. "Because I want you to. Because you want to please me."
Shea laughed out loud, her eyebrows winging upward. "Oh, really? That's what I want to do?"
He nodded solemnly. "Above all else."
She moved away from him, deliberately enticing him. "I see. I didn't know that. Thank you for pointing it out."
"You are welcome," he countered gravely, his eyes following her every movement. — Christine Feehan

He settled a hand over her stomach, rubbing in soothing circles. "Lie easy, sweetheart."
"I c-can't. Oh, do hurry!"
Cam laughed softly, his parted lips dragging across her sensitive flesh. He traced her with his tongue, made her wet, and blew against the dampened curls. "It's better for you if I don't hurry."
"No it's not."
"Much you know about it. This is only your second time. — Lisa Kleypas

Ethan sidled next to me, a hand propped on the shelf. "Come here often?" he said. "Excuse me?" "I see you're here in this" - he gestured at the shelves - "library all alone. You must be a student here?" He traced a fingertip down the hollow of my throat, lifting goose bumps on my arms. Since my mind hardly worked when he did things like that, it took a moment for his words to register. Was he initiating a bout of role-playing ... about a library? "Ethan Sullivan," I marveled. "You have a library fantasy." He smiled slyly. "I have a doctoral-student-turned-vampire fantasy. — Chloe Neill

Toccata II
A man sits pen in hand, paper
before him. What is on his mind
he will set down now, the word not to be spoken
lightly. As if of all
his words this was the one that touched the heart
of things and made touch
the last sense of all as it was the first, and the word
that speaks it loaded
with all that came strongest, a planet's-worth
of sunlight, cooling green, the close comfort
of kind. It is the world he must set down
now, also lightly, each thing
changed yet as it was: in so many fumblings traced back
to the print of his fingertips still warm upon it, the warmth
that came when he was touched.
The last, as he sets it down, no more than
a breath, though much
that is still to be grasped may turn upon it. — David Malouf

Some cognitive scientists believe human response to music provides evidence that we are more than just flesh and blood - that we also have souls. Their thinking is as follows: All reactions to external stimuli can be traced back to an evolutionary rationale. You pull your hand away from fire to avoid physical harm. You get butterflies before an important speech because the adrenaline running through your veins has caused a physiological fight-or-flight response. But there is no evolutionary context within which people's response to music makes sense - the tapping of a foot, the urge to sing along or get up and dance, there's just no survival benefit to these activities. For this reason, some believe that our response to music is proof that there's more to us than just biological and physiological mechanics - that the only way to be moved by the spirit, so to speak, is to have one in the first place. There — Jodi Picoult

Fucking hell," he whispered, closing his eyes. The pain in his face mirrored the deep ache in her bones. He lifted her hand to his mouth and traced his lips slowly across her palm. With incredible gentleness, he pulled her arm toward him and pressed a warm kiss to the pulse on her wrist, his breath washing over the delicate skin and casting a spell as bottomless and dark as shame. — Mia Hopkins

She touched his cheek. "I wondered what love felt like," she said. "Now I know." He crushed her to his chest again. There was no pretense with her. He kissed her again, not caring to hold back the depth of his love. His breathing was ragged when he raised his head. "Oh Addie, Addie, what did I do before you came into my life?" Tears shone on her lashes. "I don't think I lived before tonight." "We must be married. Quite soon, darling girl. I can't wait for long." "I'd marry you tonight," she said. "Right now." He traced the curve of her cheek with his finger. "I'll ask your father for your hand tonight." A shadow darkened the joy in her eyes. "What about Lord Carrington?" "What about him?" "Father seems quite set on a match with him." She wet her lips. "I've been thinking about what you said. That God might be disciplining him. You might be right. — Colleen Coble

She studied the fabulous frame with its odd symbols, stroking the cool gold of it, trailing her hand down over the silvery glass. Inside the mirror, Cian raised his hand, too, and traced the path of her passage, making it appear as though their fingertips met. She felt only cold glass. — Karen Marie Moning

I am with you. I'm not going anywhere."
"Is there anything special you want to see? Paris? Budapest? The Leaning Tower of Pisa?"
Only if it falls on Sebastian's head, she thought. "Can we travel to Idris? I mean, I guess, can the apartment travel there?"
"It can't get past the wards." His hand traced a path down her cheek. "You know,I really missed you."
"You mean you haven't been going on romantic dates with Sebastian while you've been away from me?"
"I tried", Jace said, "but no matter how liquored up you get him , he just won't put out. — Cassandra Clare

I sighed, sinking back, head filling with pleasant images; pictures Pietr floated to the surface. Kisses scorched along my face and neck. "Pietr ... "
There was a growl, and I felt fingers at the waistband of my jeans. The button opened and a hand traced along the top of my underpants.
"No," I said. The kissing resumed, harder. "Jessica." The word rumbled in someone's throat. Not Pietr's. To him, I was Jess.
"No," I insisted, trying to pry my eyes open. Something was wrong ... Not Pietr ... I pushed at the chest above me, my eyelids stinging as I willed them apart.
"Relax ... " a voice said, lips dragging along the cornerof my jaw, filling my head with honey, sticky and sweet ... — Shannon Delany

You cannot look into a cradle and read the secret message traced by a divine hand and wrapped up in that bit of clay, and more than you can see the North Star in the magnetic needle. God has loaded the needle of that young life so it will point to the star which presides over poetry, art, law, medicine, or whatever your own pet calling is, until you have wasted years precious life, yet, when once free, the needle flies back to its own star. — Orison Swett Marden

The red priestess shuddered. Blood trickled down her thigh, black and smoking. The fire was inside her, an agony, an ecstasy, filling her, searing her, transforming her. Shimmers of heat traced patterns on her skin, insistent as a lover's hand. — George R R Martin

I love you," he said.
She looked up at him, her eyes shiny and black, then looked away. "I know," she said.
He pulled one of his arms out from under her and traced her outline against the couch. He could spend all day like this, running his hand down her ribs, into her waist, out to her hips and back again ... If he had all day, he would. If she weren't made of so many other miracles.
"You know?" he repeated. She smiled, so he kissed her. "You're not the Han Solo in this relationship, you know."
"I'm totally the Han Solo," she whispered. It was good to hear her. It was good to remember it was Eleanor under all this new flesh.
"Well, I'm not the Princess Leia," he said.
"Don't get so hung up on gender roles," Eleanor said. — Rainbow Rowell

I lowered my mouth to her ear. "That sound you make when I touch you, I want to hear it." My hand slid beneath her t-shirt, and my thumb trailed beneath her bra and across the bare skin of her breast.
A soft sigh fell from her lips.
My tongue traced her ear. "That's it. — Tess Oliver

At last he stopped, and she stared down at the printed column of words, unable to comprehend a single one. His hand, warm and steady, wound its way around hers, wrapping it like a spider would its prey. She surrendered it to him, unable to watch even as his thumb traced the place, just above her knuckles, where he had once written his number in deep violet. Isobel ceased to breathe. Her heart pounded in her chest, her thoughts shattering into senseless fragments. All the while, her eyes remained trained and unblinking on the open page. Lines without meaning stared up at her, little more than black sticks in an otherwise white world. — Kelly Creagh

So, Abe's blood was spattered all over the walls of his office." Quinn traced a hand down the doorframe and looked at him meaningfully. "You might want to consider whether you really want the same people to come looking for you." He smiled without warmth as he made a business card appear. "Call me when you get it through your head that you're in danger. — Marcus Sakey

Gently, I ran my hand across his chest, exploring it. My breath felt tight in my throat. He was so beautiful. His muscles were toned, defined, his skin warm and smooth. Stroking my palm up over the line of his collarbone, I felt the firmness of his shoulder, the strength of his bicep. I traced my fingers over the black AK, following the lines of the letters. Alex hardly moved as I touched him, his eyes never leaving me.
Finally I sighed and dropped my hand. I tried to smile. "I've sort of been wanting to do that ever since that first night in the motel room," I admitted. — L.A. Weatherly

But laugh?" He pressed the flat of his hand against my stomach. "Here lives laugh." He ran his finger straight up to my mouth and spread his fingers. "Push back laugh is not good. Not healthy."
"Also cry?" I asked. I traced an imaginary tear down my cheek with one finger.
"Also cry." He put his hand on his own belly. "Ha ha ha," he said, pressing his hand to show me the motion of his stomach. Then his expression changed to sad. "Huh huh huh," he heaved with exaggerated sobs, pressing his stomach again. "Same place. Not healthy to push down. — Patrick Rothfuss

For all her culture's attention to the physical, it seemingly has little to salve the creatural anguish of losing someone else's body, their touch, their heat, their oceanic heart ... she doesn't want another body, she wants the body she loved, the forceps scar across his cheek that she traced with her hand, his penis, its elegant sweep to the side, the preternaturally soft skin. One wants what one has loved, not the idea of love. — Michelle Latiolais

So I wish to give to you what I have given to few before." Her dark eyes shone. "Names are not important. It's what lies inside of you that matters. I know what you went through in Endovier. I know what my people endure there, day after day. But you did not let the mines harden you; you did not let it shame your soul into cruelty." The princess traced a mark on her hand, her fingers pressing into Celaena's skin. "You bear many names, and so I shall name you as well." Her hand rose to Celaena's forehead and she drew an invisible mark. "I name you Elentiya." She kissed the assassin's brow. "I give you this name to use with honor, to use when other names grow too heavy. I name you Elentiya, 'Spirit That Could Not Be Broken.'" Celaena — Sarah J. Maas

She traced Celaena's cheekbone, where the bruises had once been. "Where do men find it in themselves to do such monstrous things? How do they find it acceptable?" "We'll make them pay for it in the end." Celaena grasped Ansel's hand. The girl squeezed back hard. "We'll see to it that they pay." "Yes." Ansel shifted her gaze back to the stars. "Yes, we will. — Sarah J. Maas

You are my life, little one. We will ask Father Hummer to marry us in the way of your people." His white teeth gleamed at her. His dark eyes were warm with contentment. "I will accept the marriage as binding, and you will erase the word divorce and all of its meanings from your memory. That will please me." He grinned at her, male amusement taunting her.
Her fingertips traced the hard line of his jaw tenderly. "How do you manage to turn everything to your advantage?"
His hand found the bare skin of her satin-smooth thigh, reveling in all that warm heat. "I do not know the answer to that, little one. Perhaps it is sheer talent. — Christine Feehan

You didn't think I could figure something out so the woman I care about doesn't have to walk home in the dark, running from wild dogs? You didn't think I could manage to arrange that and still maintain your honor?" He smelled like Diamond C soap and something woodsy, and his nearness was intoxicating. She splayed her hands on his chest and could feel it heave beneath her palms. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." "Hannah, I'm not offended." He cupped her cheek with one hand. "You scared me senseless." "I scared you?" "Yes, and I'd tell you never to do it again, but I think that would be a wasted effort." He traced her lips with the pad of his thumb. "And right now, I have something else I'd much rather put my effort into." His hand slipped around the back of her neck, sending shivers coursing through her. She held her breath as he lowered his head until his lips touched hers in the sweetest of kisses. — Lorna Seilstad

Would you like to hear a very bald, very earthy, completely scientific truth?" He struggled up on his elbow, reaching one hand toward her face. He cupped her cheek in his hand, traced her parted lips with his thumb. "You," he whispered hoarsely, "have the most goddamned erotic mouth I've ever seen. These sweet, plump lips drive me wild. It's impossible to look at you and not ... not wonder, how it would be."
Her eyes went wide. "You've wondered."
He nodded. "Oh yes."
"Y-you've actually spent time - "
"Hours, probably, if you added it up."
"Thinking about - "
"This." He slid his thumb between her startled lips, pressing it deep into her hot, wet mouth. "Yes. — Tessa Dare

I was only then, when I knew I was alone, at least for the moment, that I reached under my gown into the pocket of my dress. As I pulled out my key from the yellow house, which I'd kept on my bureau since the day Nate left, I traced the shape one last time before folding my hand tightly around it.
Behind me, Cora was calling again. My family was waiting. Looking down at the pond, all I could think was that it is an incredible thing, how a whole world can rise from what seems like nothing at all. I stepped closer to the edge, keeping my eyes on my reflection as I dropped the key into the water, where it landed with a splash. At first, the fish darted away, but as it began to sink they circled back, gathering around. Together, they followed it down, down until it was gone.<3 — Sarah Dessen

He followed the lines of her face and arms. Livia bit the inside of her cheek as he outlined her breasts. He knelt in front of her and traced her legs in the air.
Livia held her breath. Will he stay? Can he stay? Please stay.
On his knees, Blake kept his eyes on hers as he slowly pulled off his glove, finger by finger, until the sun shone on his bare hand.
She saw the panic run through his eyes and lips. Livia broke her silence and grabbed his uncovered hand. "I don't believe your skin is glass, but I believe in you."
Blake took another breath and squeezed her hand. He smiled as he looked at their hands in sunlight together. He released her to take off his second glove and stood up. He grabbed both her hands, and they were joined. — Debra Anastasia

Jess pushed herself up to sit next to him. "In case you didn't get the memo, it' s my turn to take care of you right now." Ike dropped his face into his hands on a groan, and Jess's cool hand massages his neck. "Oh, my God. You're so hot."
He chuffed out a small laugh. "Why, thank you."
Jess Chuckled. "You realize you don't have to fish for compliments, right? Not from me. Because I will straight-up tell you that the sight of your Ravens tat stretched over all these muscles gives me a lady boner." Her fingers traced the design across his shoulder blades - a spread-winged raven perches on the hilt of a dagger sunk into the eye socket of a skull. The block letters of the club's name arched over the menacing black bird.
He threw her some major side-eye. "I know I'm sick because the perverted part of my brain just heard you say my ink gives you a lady boner. — Laura Kaye

When I am an old man and I can remember nothing else, I will remember this moment. The first time my eyes beheld an angel in the flesh. "I will remember your body and your eyes, your beautiful face and breasts, your curves and this." He traced his hand around her navel before dragging it lightly to the top of her lower curls. "I will remember your scent and your touch and how it felt to love you. But most of all, I will remember how it felt to gaze at true beauty, both inside and out. For you are fair, my beloved, in soul and in body, generous of spirit and generous of heart. And I will never see anything this side of heaven more beautiful tham you — Sylvain Reynard

Ildiko clutched his arm, unwilling to have him leave her side. "I enjoy your touch, Brishen."

The stiffness eased from his shoulders. He gave her a wry look and pressed his palm to the pale expanse of skin just below her collarbones. His hand rose and fell in quick time to her breathing. "I believe you, but this tells me you fear it as well."

She winced. "Your teeth are so...sharp."

"They are, but I'm not careless, wife. And if, for some unfathomable reason, I accidently bite you, you're welcome to bite me back."

His attempt at humor worked, and Ildiko chuckled. "Brishen - " She offered him a toothy grin. "These wouldn't do much damage."

He traced the line of her collarbones with the rough pads of his fingers, their dark claws a whisper of movement across her flesh. "You have obviously never been badly bitten by a horse. — Grace Draven

the One whom we most need to behold has made himself known. He has traced with a fine hand the lines and contours of his face. He has done so in his Word. We must search for that face, though babies continue to cry, bills continue to grow, bad news continues to arrive unannounced, though friendships wax and wane, though both ease and difficulty weaken our grip on godliness, though a thousand other faces crowd close for our affection, and a thousand other voices clamor for our attention. By fixing our gaze on that face, we trade mere human glory for holiness: — Jen Wilkin

Do you know anything about hearts, Jona? The Senta know hearts. Hearts are not one organ. Inside a mother's womb, two pulsing bags of blood seek their eternal mate."
Her hand reached out to his. She opened his palm, and traced a finger down his lifeline, then his loveline. She lifted it up to her own face. She placed it on her cheek.
"Lungs are fine apart," she said, "Hands do not need another but to clap. Brains gnarl like roots in the nothing of soul, and guts spin in knots around the nothing of hunger. But hearts are made by two complete parts merging together. Once the two pieces sense each other in the blood flow, they cross every bloody cliff inside of us. The arteries bind the halves close. The veins make love to each other in the life pulse that makes all life from love entwined. — J.M. McDermott

You haven't given me any ink," he said.
"Oh, you won't need ink," said Professor Umbridge with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice.
Harry placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote: I must not tell lies.
He let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Harry's right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel - yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth.
Harry looked around at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile.
"Yes?"
"Nothing," said Harry quietly. — J.K. Rowling

Your work, coming from a fluid source, can be traced to the naked song of your youth. You spoke then of holding hands with God. Remember, through everything, you have always held that hand, grip it hard, Robert, and don't let go.

(letter to Robert Mapplethorpe, 1970) — Patti Smith

He gripped her hips, and standing up, slowly pushed volumes of silk with him. Blue fabric puffed and pillowed between them. His hand traced a slow caress the length of her from knee to hip. Edward's nostrils flared, as did his eyes, when his roving hand slipped behind her, grappling bare skin. She quivered from tantalizing male touch exploring forbidden flesh. Lydia read Edward's face, the flush of tanned skin and mouth unable to close, as knowledge seeped into his brain: she'd said her vows, eaten dinner with the utmost decorum, and chattered politely with all and sundry in this secret state of undress. Edward groaned and jammed her body hard against his. "You're naked under your skirt. — Gina Conkle

But I never finished because then Zach's lips found mine. His hands burned as they left my arms and moved through my hair, bracing the back of my neck. My head still hurt, but there was no music playing. "I remember this." I felt my hand run along his chest, his breath warm on the side of my face. I breathed him in - Zach. "I remember this." And then he kissed me again, and the kiss was all that mattered. He pulled back, traced his lips across the tender place on my head. — Ally Carter

I have come to understand that I have offended you with my honest about your power,' he said. 'I am not accustomed-' He paused and rubbed his chin. 'I mean apart from my father, there has been no one whose opinion I was required to consider. And I've never had to'-his finger traced the edge of the pearl-'pursue a woman.'
Was the emperor apologizing to me?
He took a deep breath. 'I cannot take back those words-we both know they were the truth-but I regret that I caused you hurt.' He reached across and took my hand. 'And they did not take into account the importance I place upon your role as Niaso. Eona, you are the moon balance to my sun. — Alison Goodman

We are not so different, you and I," she said as if she was inside my thoughts. "We are flesh," she ran her finger down the center of my chest and circled around my breasts, "and bone," her hand traced a path down my abdomen and over the crest of my hip and down my thigh, "fire," her hand swept up my body and pressed against my beating heart, "and water," her hand trailed down and between my legs... — Giselle Fox

You are so beautiful," he whispered. He stepped closer, but before she could touch him he took her hand and brought it to his lips.
"When I saw you tonight I think my heart stopped beating."
"And is it now?" she whispered.
He took her hand and laid it over his heart. She could feel it pounding beneath his skin, almost hear it reverberating through her own body. He was so strong, and so solid, and so wonderfully male.
"Do you know what I wanted to do?" he murmured.
She shook her head, too entranced by the low heat of his voice to make a noise of her own.
"I wanted to turn you around and push you right back through the door before anyone else saw you. I didn't want to share you." He traced her lips with his finger. "I still don't. — Julia Quinn

You said that if..." He trailed off, his expression hesitant and oddly defiant. "You said if I kissed you again without your permission, you'd slit my throat. Is that still the case?"
Surprise jolted through her, but somehow she managed to keep her voice steady. "Yes. It is."
He traced the line of her jaw with his fingertips. His touch was so gentle it ignited a spark of fear.
"Then I guess I'll ask permission." He paused. "Can I kiss you?"...
"No." she burst out, shoving his hand away. "You can't. — Elle Kennedy

The footprint of the savage traced in the sand is sufficient to attest the presence of man to the atheist who will not recognize God, whose hand is impressed upon the entire universe. — Hugh Miller

He opened two blouse buttons and traced a line along the top of my bra with his fingertip. He bent his head, brushed a kiss across my breast, and slipped his hand inside my bra. I think I might have moaned a little, and I steadied myself by sliding my hand up the inside of his thigh. It turns out that just because I think I could have a future with Morelli doesn't mean I'm entirely immune to Ranger's hotness. — Janet Evanovich

You know the reason The Beatles made it so big? ... 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand.' First single. Fucking brilliant. Perhaps the most fucking brilliant song ever written. Because they nailed it. That's what everyone wants. Not 24/7 hot wet sex. Not a marriage that lasts a hundred years. Not a Porsche ... or a million-dollar crib. No. They wanna hold your hand. They have such a feeling that they can't hide. Every single successful song of the past fifty years can be traced back to 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand.' And every single successful love story has those unbearable and unbearably exciting moments of hand-holding. — David Levithan

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

But the waves kept moving, with the white wake of the ship traced in them for an instant, and then smoothed over by the water. And it was as if my own footsteps were being erased behind me, the footsteps I'd made as a child on the beaches and pathways of the land I'd left, and the footsteps I'd made on this side of the ocean, since coming here; all the traces of me, smoothed over and rubbed away as if they had never been, like polishing the black tarnish from the silver, or drawing your hand across dry sand.
On the edge of sleep I thought: It's as if I never existed, because no trace of me remains, I have left no marks. And that way I cannot be followed. It is almost the same as being innocent.
And then I slept. — Margaret Atwood

When I saw you at the graveyard, looking so white, I knew something was wrong. I knew it."
Azalea stared at him, the fire flickering highlights in his eyes.
"So ... I thought I should do something," he finished lamely.
"You saw everything?"
Mr. Bradford gave a half of a crooked smile. "I did knock."
"You didn't see Mr ... Mr.-"
"Mr. Keeper?" Mr. Bradford spat the name. "Oh yes, I saw Mr. Keeper. Rather hard not to. I saw him try to kiss you. Or what he said was a kiss. I want to snap his head off!"
Azalea had her hand over her mouth, shocked that someone as solemn and dignified as Mr. Bradford could have such venom. He took her hands, gently, and pushed up her sleeved, revealing her swollen wrists. His fringers traced the bruises.
"You stopped him," said Azalea. She bowed her head, shy. "You kept him from-from-"
"Ah, yes, my lady!" Mr. Bradford smiled a crooked smile in full. "His ponytail was simply begging to be yanked. — Heather Dixon

One hand traced small circles against my back, and I pressed closer to him, listening to his heartbeat. "I used to think that having nothing to live for made you a better fighter," he murmured. "Turns out I was wrong on a lot of fronts. — Julie Kagawa

Do you know that two is an untouchable number too?" Finn said after several long minutes, his eyes on his hand.
"It is?"
He nodded slowly and traced the dots which now numbered six. "And six is what is known as a perfect number. The sum of its divisors - one, two, and three - all add up to six. The product of its divisors are also six."
"So what you're telling me, then, is together we are perfect and untouchable? — Amy Harmon

He slept still in the induced coma his doctors had kept him in since he arrived. She could see the bruises, see the healing wound of the burn that stretched over his side. She reached out a hand, hovered just above the field and traced the path of the yellow, black and angry red of his healing flesh.
She had done that to him. — Mary Brock Jones

I watched as he raised his hand to run a finger down my nose to my lips, then traced my mouth.

The feather-light touch made me shiver. "What are you doing?"

"I'm drawing you, so that I'll have you in my fingertips while you are gone. — Frances Watts