Fingertips Quotes - Page 3

She put out her hand and touched his forearm, as she would have touched some piece of porcelain or sculpture, just for the sheer animal pleasure of feeling its shape and curve beneath her fingertips.

Rosamunde Pilcher

Animal, Curves, Hands

Rosamunde Pilcher (2013). “The Shell Seekers”, p.107, Macmillan

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Bina, thank you. Bina, listen, this guy. His name wasn't Lasker. This guy-' She puts a hand to his mouth. She has not touched him in three years. It probably would be too much to say that he feels the darkness lift at the touch of her fingertips against his lips. But it shivers, and light bleeds in among the cracks.

Michael Chabon

Light, Hands, Years

7 Copy quote
How not to imagine the tumors ripening beneath his skin, flesh I have kissed, stroked with my fingertips, pressed my belly and breasts against, some nights so hard I thought I could enter him, open his back at the spine like a door or a curtain and slip in like a small fish between his ribs, nudge the coral of his brains with my lips, brushing over the blue coil of his bowels with the fluted silk of my tail.

Dorianne Laux

Night, Blue, Doors

5 Copy quote
Open the book. (The gilt rubs off the edges of the pages and pollinates the fingertips.)

Elizabeth Bishop

Book, Pages, Edges

Elizabeth Bishop (2015). “Poems”, p.58, Macmillan

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As the vampire trailed a fingertip along the girl’s collarbone, she appeared to fall into a trance. It was not mind games on Zypher’s part. Females of both races couldn’t help themselves around him.

J.R. Ward

Girl, Fall, Race

J.R. Ward (2012). “Lover Reborn: A Novel of the Black Dagger Brotherhood”, p.158, Penguin

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I could really appreciate him now - could properly see every beautiful line of his perfect face, of his long, flawless body with my strong new eyes, every angle and every plane of him. I could taste his pure, vivid scent on my tongue and feel the unbelievable silkiness of his marble skin under my sensitive fingertips.

Stephenie Meyer

Beautiful, Strong, Eye

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No moon, sun, diamond, hands — fingertip, dot, ray, gauze, sea. pine green, pink glass, eye, mine, eraser, mud, mother, I am coming.

Frida Kahlo

Mother, Eye, Moon

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He gently touched his mother's cheek, felt her sorrow slip over his fingertips.

Jodi Picoult

Mother, Sorrow, Slips

Jodi Picoult (2007). “Salem Falls”, p.300, Simon and Schuster

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He raised his hand, hesitant, conflict raging in his eyes, and then swiftly brushed the length of my cheekbone with his fingertips. His skin was as icy as ever, but the trail his fingers left on my skin was alarmingly warm - like I'd been burned, but didn't feel the pain of it yet.

Stephenie Meyer

Pain, Twilight, Eye

Stephenie Meyer (2009). “Twilight: Twilight”, p.147, Hachette UK

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She even touches Jimmy's face on the photos, and I see what it is to love someone like Milla loved that man. Her fingertips are made of love.

Markus Zusak

Men, Faces, Made

Markus Zusak (2007). “I Am the Messenger”, p.56, Knopf Books for Young Readers

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Ah, well,ʺ said Abe, idly studying his fingertips. ʺI have it on good authority thereʹs going to be a new ‘gateʹ opening up soon over on the south side of the wall." The truth dawned on me. ʺOh lord. Youʹre the one whoʹs been doling out C4.ʺ ʺYou make it sound so easy,ʺ he said with a frown. ʺThat stuffʹs hard to get a hold of.

Richelle Mead

Wall, Opening Up, Stuff

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Clouds are poems, and the most moving poems linger on the blackboard so long, written in cursive so lovely, they also exist inside our fingertips. We never really erase them at the end of the lesson.

Ann Beattie

Moving, Clouds, Long

Ann Beattie (2010). “Walks With Men: Fiction”, p.40, Simon and Schuster

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Rohan's fingertips drifted with stunning delicacy over her throat, behind her ear, pushing into the satiny warmth of her hair. "You are an interesting woman Amelia." Gooseflesh rose wherever his breath touched. "I can't f-fathom why you would think so." His playful mouth traced the wing of her brow. "I find you thoroughly, deeply interesting. I want to open you like a book and read every page." A smile curved the corners of his lips as he added huskily, "Footnotes included.

Lisa Kleypas

Book, Thinking, Hair

Lisa Kleypas (2007). “Mine Till Midnight”, p.85, St. Martin's Press

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Isabella Swan?” He looked up at me through his impossibly long lashes, his golden eyes soft but, somehow, still scorching. “I promise to love you forever—every single day of forever. Will you marry me?” There were many things I wanted to say, some of them not nice at all, and others more disgustingly gooey and romantic than he probably dreamed I was capable of. Rather than embarrass myself with either, I whispered, “Yes.” “Thank you,” he said simply. He took my left hand and kissed each of my fingertips before he kissed the ring that was now mine.

Stephenie Meyer

Nice, Love You, Eye

Stephenie Meyer (2008). “Eclipse”, Little Brown & Company

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The information. Every bit that of information that was ever in your brain. But the information is not the mind Jenna. That we've never accomplished before. What we've done with you is groundbreaking. We cracked the code. The mind is an energy that the brain produces. Think of a glass ball twirling on your fingertip. If it falls, it shatters into a million pieces. All the parts of a ball are still there, but it will never twirl with that force on your fingertip again. The brain is the same way.

Mary E. Pearson

Fall, Thinking, Glasses

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I play until my fingertips are raw. Until I rip a nail and bleed on the strings. Until my hands hurt so bad I forget my heart does.

Jennifer Donnelly

Hurt, Rip, Heart

Jennifer Donnelly (2015). “Revolution”, p.10, Bloomsbury Publishing

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I suppose you've always been amazing at this stuff?" "I was born amazing" Jace stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingertips, lightly but enough to make her shiver.

Cassandra Clare

Stuff, Enough, Fallen Angels

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She was hearing everything that went on in his heart, like a person who can trace a map with his fingertip and conjure up vivid, living scenery.

Haruki Murakami

Heart, Maps, Vivid

FaceBook post by Haruki Murakami from Jun 19, 2016

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The sound of the pages turning was the sound of magic. The dry liquid feel of paper under fingertips was what magic felt like.

Emma Donoghue

Pages Turning, Magic, Sound

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That at the same time of this very intimate act of concentrating so carefully on the details of our mother's palm and fingertips, he was also removing all traces of any tiny leftover parts, and suddenly a ritual which I'd always found incestuous and gross seemed to me more like a desperate act on Joseph's part to get out, to leave, to extract every little last remnant and bring it into open air.

Aimee Bender

Mother, Air, Details

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I see. So you playacted the role of a rake who was only pretending to be in earnest, knowing you would come across as though you had the lowest of motives, when in fact, you were sincere?” “Precisely.” She gave a short, wry laugh and shook her head at him. “Convoluted sir! You are a maze.” He shot her a sulky glance. “I thought you were going to say I was amazing.” “That, too,” she admitted with a rueful smile, capturing his square chin between her fingertips.

Gaelen Foley

Knowing, Wry Smile, Squares

Gaelen Foley (2002). “Lord of Fire”, p.175, Ballantine Books

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But never had he felt more enthralled than he was right now, sitting beside Evie on a weathered old dock, with a blazing afternoon sun, almost brutal in its clarity, bathing everything in pure light. Sweat trickled down his back and chest from the steamy heat, and his entire body pulsed with life. Even his fingertips throbbed. It took all of his formidable self-control to prevent himself from pushing her down on the dock and spreading her legs for his entry.

Linda Howard

Light, Self, Sweat

Linda Howard (2016). “Loving Evangeline”, p.82, HQN Books

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He put my fingertips to his mouth and kissed them. Licked the trace of blood away. Made them clean. Then I knew the truth I had been denying. He made me clean. Dan made me clean and shining and bright. He made me beautiful, and I did not want to lose him.

Megan Hart

Beautiful, Blood, Shining

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I like to think of fire held in a man's hand. Fire, a dangerous force, tamed at his fingertips. I often wonder about the hours when a man sits alone, watching the smoke of a cigarette, thinking. I wonder what great things have come from such hours. When a man thinks, there is a spot of fire alive in his mind--and it is proper that he should have the burning point of a cigarette as his one expression.

Ayn Rand

Men, Thinking, Fire

Ayn Rand (2011). “Ayn Rand Novel Collection”, p.998, Penguin

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How can it be, I wondered, that we can be lying in bed next to a person we love wholly and helplessly, a person we love more than our own breath, and still ache to think of the one who caused us pain all those years ago? It's the betrayal of this second heart of ours, its flesh tied off like a fingertip twined tightly round with a single hair, blue-tinged from lack of blood. The shameful squeeze of it.

Carolyn Parkhurst

Pain, Betrayal, Lying

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