Wave Hands Quotes & Sayings

I look up after the last chord and smile. I tell Antony Barellan to shove it up his arse, and I see Dad clapping his hands off. I give him a little wave to show him that it's okay to be happy. I give him a little smile to show him what it looks like. — Cath Crowley

Mark. She fisted her hands in his hair and pulled his mouth to hers, her entire world anchored on his finger. When it slid inside her, she thunked her head back against the door and panted. Then his thumb brushed her in a slow circle.
She cried out against his lips, arching into him, yanking his hair. She couldn't help it. She was going up in flames. He merely pressed her hard to the door, locking her in place. Continuing the torture, he added another finger. She came hard and fast, the power of it sweeping over her like a tidal wave. — Jill Shalvis

It is better to hug than wave hands. — Lailah Gifty Akita

Who 'waits for inspiration' has probably never explored the brain. Its much larger than the entire internet. Writing, however, is partly stalking the big wave, and ride it when it comes. However, the thousands and thousands of blokes sitting at the shoreline trying to create waves by splashing their hands in the surf - it might be what they teach at writer workshops, but the sight is absolutely ghastly. — Martijn Benders

He crashed over me like a wave and I was drowning. He shone so brightly and I was burning. Touched, by his hands and his body and his unintended mercies, I needed my distance back. Difficult, though, when my skin sang at his closeness and I blazed with wanting. I wanted to put my lips against his neck. I wanted to lick the sweat from where it would gather like glitter in the secret hollows of his flesh. I wanted him naked in my arms, like I'd had him in Brighton, but with not even darkness between us this time. I wanted to give him pleasure. Lavish him in it. Bedeck him with it, like pirate gold. Weave him a crown of my lost dreams. I wanted to kneel at his feet and suck his cock. I wanted him on his back, so I could look into his eyes while I fucked him. — Alexis Hall

How do you meditate? You meditate with an inner cry. There should be an inner cry here, in the heart. The outer cry is ego-centred; it wants name and fame ... While you are feeling this inner cry, you try to make the mind absolutely calm and quiet. If a thought enters your mind, you try to reject it. Consider this thought as a fly. When a fly comes to land on your arm, you don't allow the fly to remain; you just wave your hand and it goes away. — Sri Chinmoy

Vel took both of her hands and stepped backwards on to the gangplank. 'No!' she squealed, pulling him back on to the quay.
'What?'
'You might fall in, going backwards.' His grip on her hands tightened enough to hurt. 'Ow!'
'I'm going up.' He glowered at her. 'I'm going backwards. I'm going now. Are you coming, or shall I tell the others to come and wave you goodbye?'
That earned him a glower in return. 'You're a brute. I hate you and I'm only coming to keep Ren safe from you. — Helen Bell

I love you," he said. "Oh, dear God, Skye, you have to know it. And if you'd gone ... "
He saw Eriko lying dead. He felt the roughness of the rocks he had piled to make her grave. And he said good-bye to her.
"Jamie," Skye said, shushing him as she put her hands on his head. "I - I ... you're my brother in all things. And that how I love you, too."
He froze as the meaning of her words penetrated the tidal wave of his emotions. "I'm not too late. I didn't tell you too late," he said desperately.
She hesitated. And then she said, "Holgar."
No. Jamie's world stopped. — Nancy Holder

You wave your hands up to the sky, kick your legs to the side. Are you ready, let's do the Freddie. — Chubby Checker

I had my arms around his waist, smiling as I looked up at him. Being with Alex made me so completely happy, in an easy, uncomplicated way that I hadn't felt since I was a small child. "I love you," I said. In the five days we'd been there, it was the first time I'd said the words to him in English; they just slipped out.
Alex's expression went very still as he looked down at me, his dark hair stirred by the slight breeze. I picked up a sudden wave of his emotions, and they almost brought tears to my eyes. Gently, he took my face in his hands and kissed me.
"I love you, too," he said against my lips. — L.A. Weatherly

I helped Jiko to her feet and we walked back to the bus stop together, holding hands again. I was still thinking about what she said about waves, and it made me sad because I knew that her little wave was not going to last and soon she would join the sea again, and even though I know you can't hold on to water , still I gripped her fingers a little more tightly to keep her from leaking away. — Ruth Ozeki

As we reach the next corner, the entire block ahead of us lights up with a rich purple glow. We backpedal, hunker down in a stairwell, and squint into the light. Something's happening to those illuminated by it. They're assaulted by . . . what? A sound? A wave? A laser? Weapons fall from their hands, fingers clutch their faces, as blood sprays from all visible orifices - eyes, noses, mouths, ears. In less than a minute, everyone's dead and the glow vanishes. — Suzanne Collins

If you feel like you're growing distant from your soul, come back to your home and go to a sacred mountain. Stay at that mountain. Stay at that mountain until you gain strength from a rock with warm sunlight, wash away the hurt and sadness of the world in a gently flowing stream, and the trees, that wave their hands to you like a warm friend, will lend you wisdom. — Ilchi Lee

I stood looking down through the beech trees. When I threw a stone I could count to five before the splash. Then I jumped in a rush of gold to the head, through black and cold, red and cold, brown and warm, giving water the weight and size of myself in order to imagine it, water with my bones, water with my mouth and my understanding. When my body was in some way a wave to swim in, one continuous fin from head to tail, I steered through rapids like a canoe, digging my hands in, keeping just ahead of the river. — Alice Oswald

They were wrapped in each other's arms, lips and tongues dancing, and their hands exploring each other with wild abandon. With a wave of his hand and a seductively wicked wink, he divested them both of their clothing, — Sara Humphreys

I always say that I love magic but I hate magicians. I like being fooled. If you wave your hands in front of my face and I think you're doing a trick, I'm easily impressed. If you pull a quarter out of my ear, I'm quite certain you're a wizard. But I don't like the way most magicians don't act like they're magical; they act like show business dicks. — Greg Behrendt

And while he waited in the castle court,
The voice of Enid, Yniol's daughter, rang
Clear through the open casement of the hall,
Singing; and as the sweet voice of a bird,
Heard by the lander in a lonely isle,
Moves him to think what kind of bird it is
That sings so delicately clear, and make
Conjecture of the plumage and the form;
So the sweet voice of Enid moved Geraint;
And made him like a man abroad at morn
When first the liquid note beloved of men
Comes flying over many a windy wave
To Britain, and in April suddenly
Breaks from a coppice gemmed with green and red,
And he suspends his converse with a friend,
Or it may be the labour of his hands,
To think or say, 'There is the nightingale;'
So fared it with Geraint, who thought and said,
'Here, by God's grace, is the one voice for me. — Alfred Tennyson

Oh, Sam, this is Kate. Kate, meet Sam.' I wave my hand between the two of them, watching as Kate turns all angelic, putting her hand out to Sam, who grins before clasping it.

'Nice to meet you, Kate.' he says smoothly, maintaining his grin and running his free hand through his mousey waves.

'You too.' She arches a brow.

She's a brazen hussy! She's flirting with him. She giggles as Sam compliments her on her wild, red hair, their hands still linked. My phone declares a text. To escape the blatant flirting exchange going on in front of me, I pick it up and open the message with one eye closed.

There better be a GOOD f**king reason for you standing me up. Someone had better be dying. I'm going out of my f**king mind, lady. NO KISS — Jodi Ellen Malpas

While you're playing cards with a regular guy or having a bite to eat with him, he seems a peaceable, good-humoured and not entirely dense person. But just begin a conversation with him about something inedible, politics or science, for instance, and he ends up in a deadend or starts in on such an obtuse and base philosophy that you can only wave your hand and leave. — Anton Chekhov

It's an unholy crusade against good people everywhere, all in my name. If I had a stomach, I'd be sick to it. You see now why so many good people just give up out there? You can only take so much evil pretending to be good. You can only handle so many broken souls acting as if good people are the evil ones, before you raise your hands and claim defeat. But I want you all to understand something. There is evil happening. There are spirits from Hell demonizing. There are even wars planned, and dark judgments justified by the self-righteous fanatics. But none of that means good can't also triumph. None of that means good cannot rise up against hatred, against judgment, against the armies of Hell itself, and bring about a tidal wave of joy and love. Evil does, but good always is. — Sean Patrick Brennan

I'll stay with you a little, my unforgettable delight, for as long as my arms and my hands and my lips remember you. I'll put my grief for you in a work that will endure and be worthy of you. I'll write your memory into an image of aching tenderness and sorrow. I'll stay here till this is done, then I too will go. This is how I will portray you, I'll trace your features on paper as the sea, after a fearful storm has churned it up, traces the form of the greatest, farthest-reaching wave on the sand. Seaweed, shells, cork, pebbles, the lightest, most imponderable things that it could lift from its bed, are cast up in a broken, sinuous line on the sand. This line endlessly stretching into the distance is the frontier of the highest tide. That was how life's storm cast you up on my shore, O my pride, that is how I'll portray you. — Boris Pasternak

Michael [Hutchence] is hands down one of the greatest frontmen in music. The style, the voice - all of it. Any way that I was ever influenced by him really comes down to small, pale imitations compared to the real thing. There is a fearlessness about him. Watching him at Wembley Stadium with 70,000 people, he looks as comfortable as if he were in his own living room. — Lori Majewski

I'm still walking around New York like a tourist staring up at all the skyscrapers. I wave at people, I shake hands, I help ladies with strollers. — Jack McBrayer

Revenge in the hands of your enemies is a loaded gun. You can beg them for mercy, wave the white flag of surrender, but the only true elixir for the vitriol they bestow is a measure of hatred dispensed of your own. — Addison Moore

Alone I walked on the ocean strand, A pearly shell was in my hand; I stooped, and wrote upon the sand My name, the year, the day. As onward from the sport I passed, One lingering look behind I cast, A wave came rolling high and fast, And washed my lines away. — Hannah Flagg Gould

I surrender my fears and burdens to God. I needn't carry into my day the burdens of my existence. Rather, I surrender them into the hands of God. I know that they will be lifted from me, for what I place on the altar in my mind is then altered in my life. When I do not know what to say or do, He who is alive within me will illumine my thinking and guide my words. When a possible outcome makes me weak with fear, I will feel His arms around me. And when the road seems lonely and long before me, I will know I am not alone. Dear God, Please take from me the burdens that I carry. Please uplift my thinking and bring forth a miracle. Send a wave of love to disperse my fear. And so it is. Amen. — Marianne Williamson

It's very dangerous to wave to people you don't know because what if they don't have hands? They'll think you're cocky. — Mitch Hedberg

If you want to know everything about the market, go to the beach. Push and pull your hands with the waves. Some are bigger waves, some are smaller. But if you try to push the wave out when it's coming in, it'll never happen. The market is always right. — Ed Seykota

I'm hip to their game, hip to the science of war
Propoganda makes me fight but what am I fightin for?
My way of life? Beans and rice? Give and take, less or more?
See through the eyes of the poor, plus I'm black to the core
Ignorance is on tour bookin stadiums and more
The days of hitler painted pictures patriotic before
You raise your flag on a land snatched from bald eagles claw, and stamp the symbol on your currency to finance your war.
I'm sayin no.
Not in my name.
Not in my life.
Not by my hands.
That ain't my fight.
Not in my name.
You wage your war against terrorists and violence, and try to wave your guns and fear us all into silence.
NO. — Saul Williams

Do not stand at a distance and wave hands. Get closer and hug. — Lailah Gifty Akita

Good night, Jeremy," I said, and closed the door.
I stepped away, reached back and started unzipping my dress.
He pressed his hands to the glass. I could read his lips. "That's not fair."
I smiled and finished unzipping. The dress slid off my shoulders, but stayed there. I looked at him, his gaze fixed on me, eyes dark with lust.
"You wouldn't dare," he mouthed.
I turned, then let it fall off the rest of the way. And, once off, there was nothing else to remove.
"Jaime!"
I heard him though the glass, heard him say my name in a deep growl that made me shiver, but I didn't turn around, just lifted my fingers to wave over my shoulder, then strolled into the bathroom for a very long, very cold shower. — Kelley Armstrong

Over any such tangled wave of problems the S-1 secret would be dominant and yet we will not know until after that time probably, until after that meeting, whether this is a weapon in our hands or not. — Henry L. Stimson

If you had gone around the table last night ticking off the Ten Commandments and asking for a show of hands to indicate transgression, you would have thought we were doing the wave. A gloss of the New Testament rules and you would have heard the rotator cuffs snapping. But if you had asked a simpler question
"Who among you is proud of this?"
I think you would have seen no hands, and this is what I love about that crew. Chipped and profane, they have taught me that there is a certain vocabulary you learn only through attrition and heartache. — Michael Perry

There were moments when something rose within him, not a thought nor a feeling, but a wave of some physical violence, and then he wanted to stop, to lean back, to feel the reality of his person heightened by the frame of steel that rose dimly about the bright, outstanding existence of his body as its center. He did not stop. He went on calmly. But his hands betrayed what he wanted to hide. His hands reached out, ran slowly down the beams and joints. The workers in the house had noticed it. They said: That guy's in love with the thing. He can't keep his hands off. — Ayn Rand

Hope is a delusion; no hand can grasp a wave or a shadow. — Victor Hugo

So? He said that he cares about you! And even with him being fucked up right now, he's doing a shitty job of acting like it."
"I don't want to talk about it, or think about it. I just want to sit here, laugh, and drink. You know that my tolerance is already shot," I jostled my bottle on the counter as I flapped my hands open-close in a swift motion. A baby's wave goodbye. — Alyse M. Gardner

Set we forward; let
A Roman and a British ensign wave
Friendly together. So through Lud's town march,
And in the temple of the great Jupiter
Our peace we'll ratify, seal it with feasts.
Set on there! Never was a war did cease,
Ere bloody hands were washed, with such a peace. — William Shakespeare

I raised my hand to wave in case he looked back; but he did not. He rode straight backed, looking forward. He rode like a Howard. We never look back. We have no time for regrets or second thoughts. If a plan goes awry we make another, if one weapon breaks in our hands, we find a second. If the steps fall down before us we overleap them and go up. It is always onwards and upwards for the Howards; and my father was on his way back to court and to the company of the King without a backwards glance for me. — Philippa Gregory

Her hands flew off the keyboard - she crouched as though she had been shot, saw yellow spots and then experienced a peaceful wave of oneness in which she entered pure communion. She was locked into the music, held there safely, entirely understood. Such was her innocence that she didn't know she was experiencing a sexual climax, but believed rather that what she felt was the natural outcome of this particular nocturne played to the utmost of her skills - and so it came to be. Chopin's spirit became her lover. His flats caressed her. His whole notes sank through her body like clear pebbles. His atmospheric trills were the flicker of a tongue. His pauses before the downward sweep of notes nearly drove her insane. The — Louise Erdrich

A heat wave crashes into my body and I tug at the collar of my winter coat. I could take this thing off and probably still sweat. The memories of his mouth moving against mine and how his hands pressed into my body flood my brain. I lick my lips in anticipation. I crave for him to kiss me again, but ... "Are you going to call me after?"
A small grin plays on his lips. "You aren't going to cut me any slack, are you?"
It's like he's begging me to tease him, and without thought, I slide back to the braver girl at the bar. "Is that a problem?"
He shakes his head. "Not from you." — Katie McGarry

My next important discovery: Children of Hermes cannot rap. At all.
Bless his conniving little heart, Cecil Markowitz tried his best, but he kept throwing off my rhythm with his spastic clapping and terrible air mic noises. After a few trial runs, I demoted him to dancer. His job would be to shimmy back and forth and wave his hands, which he did with the enthusiasm of a tent-revival preacher.
The others managed to keep up. They still looked like half-plucked, highly combustible chickens, but they bopped with the proper amount of soul. — Rick Riordan

Despite any warnings, she continued to move towards the flames he had ignited within her. Her limbs tingled as the fire spread, each touch of Alex's hands and lips caused a wave of cinders. — Amy Lee Peine

As he continued to load the barrow, he moved slower and slower, like a machine winding down. Eventually he stopped completely and stood for a long minute, still as stone. Only then did his composure break. And even with no one there to see, he hid his face in his hands and wept quietly, his body wracked with wave on wave of heavy, silent sobs. — Patrick Rothfuss

My hands felt electrically charged. My blood was ready to burst from my veins and my heart was beating a manic rhythm. I was frightened out of my wits but I was catching a familiar, addictive adrenaline wave. I was ready to taunt the reaper. — Bobby Adair

Wave to the nice tourists, Sparkle. I promise it won't cause pestilence and firestorms."
Elena bit the inside of her cheek at Aodhan's glare-she'd never seen anyone crack his reserved shell. "Sparkle and Bluebell, nice."
"Never," Aodhan said, hands stubbornly on the girder, "ever repeat that. Illium seems to have forgotten I promised to separate his tongue from his mouth should he utter it again in this immortal lifetime. — Nalini Singh

The fun-seekers, I noted, were spontaneous and flexible. They approached each day and each situation with a willingness to ride whatever wave came along, just for the experience of it. The complainers, on the other hand, would only catch a wave if it was exactly to their liking. Anything else drew loud protestations about how it was not what they expected. — Alice Steinbach

Then Day reaches out and touches my hand with his. He encloses it in a handshake. And just like that, I am linked with him again, I feel the pulse of our bond and his- tory and love through our hands, like a wave of magic, the return of a long-lost friend. Of something meant to be. The feeling brings tears to my eyes. Perhaps we can take a step forward together.
"Hi," he says. "I'm Daniel."
"Hi," I reply. "I'm June. — Marie Lu

Don't let us rejoice in punishment, even when the hand of God alone inflicts it. The best of us are but poor wretches, just saved from shipwreck. Can we feel anything but awe and pity when we see a fellow-passenger swallowed by the waves? — George Eliot

Light is a particle and a wave. This is hard to understand, how a thing can be two things at once. But a woman is also both a particle and a wave. She's a wave when you see her reach down to pull a shell from the sea, and you feel her beauty pass through you like electrical current. She's a particle when her hair brushes your face, and her hands push into yours — Ken Kalfus

Curran smiled. It was a happy, genuine smile and it catapulted him from attractive into irresistible territory. He didn't smile very often in public. That intimate smile was usually reserved for private moments when we were alone. I pulled the band off my still-damp braid and slid my fingers through it, unraveling the hair. Curran's gaze snagged on my hands. He focused on my fingers like a cat on a piece of foil pulled by a string. I shook my head and my hair fell over my shoulders in a long dark wave. There we go. Now we were both private in public. — Ilona Andrews

Domestic pain can be searing, and it is usually what does us in. It's almost indigestible: death, divorce, old age, drugs; brain-damaged children, violence, senility, unfaithfulness. Good luck with figuring it out. It unfolds, and you experience it, and it is so horrible and endless that you could almost give up a dozen times. But grace can be the experience of a second wind, when even though what you want is clarity and resolution, what you get is stamina and poignancy and the strength to hang on. Through the most ordinary things, books, for instance, or a postcard, or eyes or hands, life is transformed. Hands that for decades reached out to hurt us, to drag us down, to control us, or to wave us away in dismissal now reach for us differently. They become instruments of tenderness, buoyancy, exploration, hope. — Anne Lamott

The kiss is the greatest of gifts, a miracle, uniquely human. A kiss beneath the mistletoe. A kiss after midnight. A kiss before dying. The devil's kiss. As a picture tells a thousand words, so a kiss says everything that's important. I am told prostitutes never kiss their clients. It is too personal, too human. We kiss to say I love you. We kiss the rings of the self-important. The feet of conquerors. The rich dark earth when we reach the promised land. We kiss our hands and wave as loved ones begin a journey. We kiss strangers before dawn in the first hours of a New Year because our wintry lips are incomplete until they are oiled by a kiss. — Chloe Thurlow

There is something about talking in the night, with the shreds of sleep around your ears, with the silences between one remark and another, the town dark and dreaming beyond your own walls. It draws the truth out of you, straight from its little dark pool down there, where usually you guard it so careful, and wave your hands over it and hum and haw to protect people's feelings, to protect your own ... You can bring out the jaggedest feelings - if you are my wife and know how to state them calm - into the night quiet. They will float there for consideration, harming no one. — Margo Lanagan

I closed my eyes and let a wave of heat pass over me, tingling right down into my fingertips. As my eyes flickered open I let my hands shoot out in front of me, sending a spiral of flames into a nearby tree. The entire structure caught alight and glowed grotesquely.
"Remind me never to make you angry!" A now all-too familiar voice said behind me. — Heather James

Till the last moment they dress a man up in peacock's feathers, till the last moment they hope for the good and not the bad; and though they may have premonitions of the other side of the coin, for the life of them they will not utter a real word beforehand; the thought alone makes them cringe; they wave the truth away with both hands, till the very moment when the man they've decked out so finely sticks their noses in it with his own two hands. — Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Generally speaking, I think it is unbecoming to act as a national hero, wave hands and so on. — Vitaly Scherbo

He entered the house quickly, pushed past the detectives, and clasped both of Alexandria's hands in his.
Something deep within Aidan coiled dangerously at the sight of her hands in Thomas Ivan's. His breath stopped. His heart ceased to beat. The demon within stirred and roared for release, fangs exploded into his mouth, and the red haze of the beasts flamed in his eyes. As Thomas leaned in close, intending to kiss her cheek, Aidan fought for control so that he could casually wave a hand, directing a flurry of dust spores to whirl and dance beneath Ivan's nose. As Ivan inhaled, he began to sneeze violently, the spasms wracking his entire body. — Christine Feehan

Adam swallowed thickly. "Can you see the future?"
"I see many futures."
"Many?"
"As many futures as there are choices."
"Do I defeat the Death Collector in any of them?"
"No."
A wave of helplessness rolled over him. So all this was pointless. The Collective was going to win after all. He couldn't breathe. He braced his hands on his knees as a devastating roar filled his head.
Abigail clucked with her tongue. "Look at you. So arrogant. So self-important. You've gone and cast yourself as the hero. Do you really think this war is about you?"
Adam's head snapped up. — Erin Kellison

So for now wave good-bye leave your hands held high — Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Somewhere in the middle of the second glass that Mad Sweeney himself began to throw both details and irrelevancies into Ibis's narrative (" ... such a girl she was, with breasts cream-colored and spackled with freckles, with the tips of them the rich reddish pink of the sunrise on a day when it'll be bucketing down before noon but glorious again by supper ... ") and then Sweeney was trying, with both hands, to explain the history of the gods in Ireland, wave after wave of them as they came in from Gaul and from Spain and from every damn place, each wave of them transforming the last gods into trolls and fairies and every damn creature until Holy Mother Church herself arrived and every god in Ireland was transformed into a fairy or a saint or a dead king without so much as a by-your-leave ... Mr. — Neil Gaiman

Voters replaced Democratic senators with Republicans in Arkansas, Colorado, Iowa, North Carolina, Montana, South Dakota, West Virginia, and likely in Alaska, and appear on track to do so in a runoff next month in Louisiana. At the same time, voters kept Republicans in GOP seats in heavily contested races in Georgia, Kansas, and Kentucky. That is at least ten, and as many as a dozen, tough races, without a single Republican seat changing hands. Tuesday's voting was a wave alright - a very anti-Democratic wave. — Byron York

He cupped her face in his hands, crushing his lips into hers. Angry and raw after all these months, he couldn't hold himself back any longer. It wasn't gentle or sweet. It was powerful and full of need. A quiet moan escaped from her throat, inciting another rushing wave of desire through him. Her lips parted, inviting his tongue inside her mouth. — Stacey O'Neale

Hip-hop is when you have crowd participation; when you chant at the audience and they chant back at you; when you wave your hands in the air like you just don't care; or some breakdancing. Everything today is just low-beat, real bass-y, bass-y, good rap records. — Flavor Flav

I sometimes used to ask myself, what on earth did I love her for? Maybe fore the warm hazel iris of her fluffy eyes, or for the natural side-wave of her brown hair, done anyhow, or again for that movement of her plump shoulders. But, probably the truth was that I loved her because she loved me. To her I was the ideal man: brains, pluck. And there was none dressed better. I remember once, when I first put on that new dinner jacket, with the vast trousers, she clapsed her hands, sank down on a chair and murmured: 'Oh, Hermann ... It was ravishment bordering upon something like heavenly woe. — Vladimir Nabokov

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep ... — W.B.Yeats

The great ocean, crooning its lullaby with one unceasing melody, lapped the island to sleep with a thousand soft touches of its wave's white hands. The — Rabindranath Tagore

Of course every girl wishes she could be one of those pop star babes who wave their hands in the air yelling about being survivors but when love sits on one side of you and loneliness on the other, it's hard to stop the touching and the kissing. — Lisa O'Donnell

Now drawing four fingers up the sides of her stomach, my hands create a kind of invisible wave that sounds beneath her skin. Molding her torso every which way as if it were clay for me to experiment, I study the lines of her iridescent form flowing in a rhythmic beauty that fascinates me into this fixation. My finger circles around the rim of her belly button as if to enjoy the sounds that might come from a crystal glass. Her every touch absorbs my ability to discern thought as I become rested in this feeling of absolute ecstasy. Life without her I know would indefinitely destroy me, having already solemnly delivered my spirit to this angel that comes down to be with me. — Luccini Shurod

When I heard about the Microsoft Kinect, though, I felt an urgency rising in me. A game you played without touching any machinery? A chance to wave your hands around, Minority-Report style, and move things around on a screen? This sounded like almost too much fun, with gadget-y pizzazz that sounded astonishing. — Susan Orlean

Tiffany got up early and lit the fires. When her mother came down, she was scrubbing the kitchen floor, very hard.
"Er ... aren't you supposed to do that sort of thing by magic, dear?" said her mother, who'd never really got the hang of what witchcraft was all about.
"No, Mum, I'm supposed not to," said Tiffany, still scrubbing.
"But can't you just wave your hand and make all the dirt fly away, then?"
"The trouble is getting the magic to understand what dirt is," said Tiffany, scrubbing hard at a stain. "I heard of a witch over in Escrow who got it wrong and ended up losing the entire floor and her sandals and nearly a toe."
Mrs. Aching backed away. "I thought you just had to wave your hands about," she mumbled nervously.
"That works," said Tiffany, "but only if you wave them about on the floor with a scrubbing brush. — Terry Pratchett

Until that moment I'd thought I could have it both ways; to be one of them, and also my husband's wife. What conceit! I was his instrument, his animal. Nothing more. How we wives and mothers do perish at the hands of our own righteousness. I was just one more of those women who clamp their mouths shut and wave the flag as their nation rolls off to conquer another in war. Guilty or innocent, they have everything to lose. They are what there is to lose. A wife is the earth itself, changing hands, bearing scars. — Barbara Kingsolver

That was magic, sweetest." The witch flexed her fingers, wriggled them in front of her. "Did she think it a wave of the hands? A slip of the tongue?" A kiss upon her skin. She could see the woman reaching out and taking her in hand, kissing each finger as though they were her possessions. Then it was gone. Charlotte blinked. The woman had not stirred. "Not all things are so simple. I was he and he was me and I took your poison into myself, and made it his. All things join beneath the earth. I burned, then so did he. More will burn. Come hair or wool, more will burn. — Chris Galford

I won," said Chelsea's dad, and went to give Chelsea a high-five, but missed, as they were standing too close.
"My fault," he said. "That was my fault."
"Oh," Chelsea said.
And he stepped back a little and tried again, but Chelsea, distracted now by something - maybe the plant in the far corner, standing and waiting like a person in a dream; or maybe the green shoe or some other thing that was out there and longing, to be looked at, and taken - wasn't ready, and their hands, his then hers, passed through the air in a kind of wave, a little goodbye. — Tao Lin

Echo and Shadow

A room
and a room. And between them

she leans in the doorway
to say something,

lintel bright above her face,
threshold dark beneath her feet,

her hands behind her head gathering
her hair to tie and tuck at the nape.

A world and a world.

Dying and not dying.
And between them
the curtains blowing
and the shadows they make on her body,

a shadow of birds, a single flock,
a myriad body of wings and cries
turning and diving in complex unison.
Shadow of bells,

or the shadow of the sound
they make in the air, mornings, evenings,
everywhere I wait for her,

as even now her voice
seems a lasting echo
of my heart's calling me home, its story
an ocean beyond my human beginning,

each wave tolling the whole note
of my outcome and belonging. — Li-Young Lee

Oh, Raphael. Maybe just kill it next time instead of skinning it?"
He looked to his hands and flicked the thick liquid off. "My apologies, Abigail Wright. It has been quite some time since I dispatched a demon. I became carried away. I will try to remember your request for a cleaner kill."
A second wave of bile rose. I couldn't stop looking at it. "Thanks, Raphael, me and my stomach would be grateful. — Ashlan Thomas

She despised her nakedness beneath the thin hospital gown and tried to wave Paul out of the room. But he shushed her and stood firmly planted beside the table where she lay. He held her gaze, forcing her to look into his eyes. He smoothed her forehead with gentle hands, and she winced, not in pain but in humiliation. Paul closed her eyes gently with his fingers and let his large warm hands rest lightly on her forehead, covering her eyes with the palm of his hand as though he could take away her self-imposed shame by sparing her his scrutiny. She loved him all the more for the act. — Deborah Raney

She grabbed both of his hands in hers, squeezed. Then she rested her head on his shoulder, her nose nestled against his neck - she had to be standing on the tips of her toes. Each breath from her sent a new wave of chills across his skin. — James Dashner

Zuckerman shook his head. "You guys are funnier than the Three Stooges without Curly. Anyway, it's a helluva campaign. Esme is running it for me. Male and female lines. Not only have we got Crispin, but Esme's landed the numero uno female golfer in the world." "Linda Coldren?" Myron asked. "Whoa!" Norm clapped his hands once. "The Hebrew hoopster knows his golf! By the way, Myron, what kind of name is Bolitar for a member of the tribe?" "It's a long story," Myron said. "Good, I wasn't interested anyway. I was just being polite. Where was I?" Zuckerman threw one leg over the other, leaned back, smiled, looked about. A ruddy-faced man at a neighboring table glared. "Hi, there," Norm said with a little wave. "Looking good." The — Harlan Coben

I should have shouted and wave my hands in case the driver looked back, but mostly in life I don't protest things. I go along, or at least I make people believe I'm going along. Sometimes it's better if people think you're dumb or don't care. — Sara Zarr

The kissing is soft to an almost abrupt firmness as our waists adhere. I then begin to question if I can feel my body as a controlling wave of this gratifying force travels from my legs to my face. Nadia is now glowing with a pleasurable subtleness that thanks me with every inhale and exhale as our bodies move. Her calm cool hands drag across the sides of my back from my buttocks to my shoulders. Down and up again she strokes and caresses me without missing a tune as if I were a beloved instrument played by its master virtuoso. — Luccini Shurod

But here's the secret to success when you possess a much-larger-than-average-size cock. You can't just wave it around like a big bat. You've got to treat it like a baseball manager does a closer. A cock with firepower is your secret weapon, and it's worth its weight in gold if you know what to do with the rest of the lineup. Meaning, the dick should never be the star of the show. The woman's name should be the one in lights, and you need to make her feel that way from start to finish. Warm her up right. Use all your tools - hands, fingers, mouth, tongue, words. — Lauren Blakely

It's a sauna in her," Lily complained. She flapped her hands, trying to wave a breeze into the robe Rowan had told her to wear to this afternoon's ritual instead of the silk slip. "What are we making today? Deep-fried witch? — Josephine Angelini

Deryn had been there every step of the way.
"We are connected, aren't we?"
"Aye," she said, still chewing. "And for us to meet at all, I had to pretend to be a boy. Fancy that."
"Barking destiny," Bovril said, then burped.
Alek put his hands up in surrender. There were worse things than being connected to Deryn Sharp. In fact, the simple fact that she was smiling sent a wave of relief through him - she was his ally again, his friend. Providence seemed to be saying that she always would be.
All at once a fist around his heart loosened its grip.
"It was awful, being at war with you."
Deryn laughed. "I missed you, too, daft prince. — Scott Westerfeld

Savannah's fear was being pushed aside by the heated tenderness of Gregori's mouth, by the gentleness in his caressing hands. He carelessly shoved the sheet down, exposing her bare breasts to his hungry gaze. Hot. He was so hot. Savannah could not stand the feel of the thin sheet of her heated hips, twisting around her legs. Her hands were tangled in Gregori's thick hair, crushing it in her fingers like so much silk.His shirt was open to his tapered waist, his hard muscles pressing against her soft breasts. The rough,dark hair on his chest rasped erotically over nipples.
A wave of heat heralded a storm of fire, through him, through her. Savannah's hands, of their own accord, pushed his shirt from his wide shoulders. She watched with enormous eyes as he slowly shrugged out of it, his silver gaze holding her blue one captive. She was drowning in those pale, mesmerizing eyes. Eyes filled with such intensity, with so much hunger for one woman. Her. Only her. — Christine Feehan

Frankly, the trouble with winter is, it is all backbone. It is fleshless, insensate, with neither a breast to be leaned on nor a heart to love and ache and, if need be, break, nor any kindly hand to fondle and caress like a sea-wave on a sunny shore half asleep. — William Alfred Quayle

Hi, my name is Ashley, and I'll be your Harbinger today. I will be acting as an interim instructor for all your necromancy needs." She flashed her best stewardess smile and gave a little Vanna wave.
"Ashley, as delighted as I am to meet you, don't you think it might be hard to teach me? I'm in a cage that you can't get into. Oh, and - " I grabbed the bars with both hands, "I'm a little distracted right now by the fact that I'm being held by a psychotic killer."
Ashley cocked a single eyebrow, a look of mild amusement on her face. "Geez," she said, looking at Brid. "Is he always this big of a drama queen? — Lish McBride

For you maybe I'm a fool but it's fun. People say you rule me with one wave of your hand. Darling, it's grand, they just don't understand. — Leo Robin

The assassin nodded. His eyes glinted in amusement, holding her gaze for a moment too long. And perhaps she saw his expression soften...but she didn't want to read too much into it. She gave him a little wave and turned to leave, her heart pounding strangely in her chest. She remembered the brush of his strong calloused hands, his long nimble fingers, and his arms trapping her against the railing, She thought of his full attention upon her, observing each small movement, every flaw and breath.

Tomorrow they would train again. Her stomach tightened at the thought. She hoped he didn't notice her response to his touch-but deep down inside, she knew he saw everything. — T.L. Shreffler