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Touching Quotes

“Energetically speaking, antimatter is the mirror image of matter, so the two instantly cancel each other out if they come in contact. Keeping antimatter isolated from matter is a challenge, of course, because everything on earth is made of matter. The samples have to be stored without ever touching anything at all—even air.”

MatterScienceEnergyChallengesAirTheoryOppositesContactAtmosphereInstantIsolationTouchingIsolatedChallengeTouchImageOppositeTheoriesMirror ImageAntimatterSamplesInstantlyCancel OutCancel Each Other Out
Book:Angels & Demons
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“Poppy. 'That's the third time you've called me that,' I said. 'Fourth,' he corrected, and I blinked. 'We're friends, aren't we? Only your friends and your brother call you that, and you may be the Maiden, and I'm a Royal Guard, but all things considered, I would hope that you and I are friends.' 'We are.' And we were. His hand flattened against my cheek, and a sigh shuddered through him. 'And I'm not... I'm not being a good friend or guard right now. I'm not...' His hand slid, and his fingers curled around the nape of my neck for a few seconds before he slipped his hand away. 'I really should get you back to your room. It's getting late.”

FriendsAttractionTouchingJennifer L ArmentroutPoppyPoppy BalfourFrom Blood And AshHawkeHawke FlynnGuard
Book:From Blood and Ash
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“A sister is not a friend. Who can explain the urge to take a relationship as primal and complex as a sibling and reduce it to something as replaceable, as banal as a friend? Yet this status is used again and again to connote the highest intimacy. True sisterhood is not the same as friendship. You don't choose each other and there is no furtive period of getting to know each other. You are a part of each other, right from the start. Look at an umbilical cord—tough, sinuous, unlovely, yet essential—and compare it to a friendship bracelet of brightly woven thread. That is the difference between a sister and a friend.”

LoveFamilyTouchingSistersTrue Bond
Book:Blue Sisters
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“Your beast's little trick didn't work on me,' she said with quiet steel. 'Apparently, an iron will is all it takes to keep a glamour from digging in. So I had to watch as Father and Elain went from sobbing hysterics into nothing. I had to listen to them talk about how lucky it was for you to be taken to some made-up aunt's house, how some winter wind had shattered our door. And I thought I'd gone mad- but every time I did, I would look at that painted part of the table, then at the claw marks farther down, and know it wasn't in my head.' I'd never heard of a glamour not working. But Nesta's mind was so entirely her own; she had put up such strong walls- of steel and iron and ash wood- that even a High Lord's magic couldn't pierce them. 'Elain said- said you went to visit me, though. That you tried.' Nesta snorted, her face grave and full of that long-simmering anger that she could never master. 'He stole you away into the night, claiming some nonsense about the Treaty. And then everything went on as if it had never happened. It wasn't right. None of it was right.' My hands slackened at my sides. 'You went after me,' I said. 'You went after me- to Prythian.' 'I got to the wall. I couldn't find a way through.' I raised a shaking hand to my throat. 'You trekked two days there and two days back- through the winter woods?' She shrugged, looking at the sliver she'd pried from the table. 'I hired that mercenary from town to bring me a week after you were taken. With the money from your pelt. She was the only one who seemed like she would believe me.' 'You did that- for me?' Nesta's eyes- my eyes, our mother's eyes- met mine. 'It wasn't right,' she said again. Tamlin had been wrong when we'd discussed whether my father would have ever come after me- he didn't possess the courage, the anger. If anything, he would have hired someone to do it for him. But Nesta had gone with that mercenary. My hateful, cold sister had been willing to brave Prythian to rescue me. ... I looked at my sister, really looked at her, at this woman who couldn't stomach the sycophants who now surrounded her, who had never spent a day in the forest but had gone into wolf territory... Who had shrouded the loss of our mother, then our downfall, in icy rage and bitterness, because the anger had been a lifeline, the cruelty a release. But she had cared- beneath it, she had cared, and perhaps loved more fiercely that I could comprehend, more deeply and loyally.”

Sarah J MaasFeyreFeyre ArcheronTouchingSistersShockedGlamourNesta ArcheronA Court Of Thorns And RosesNesta
Book:A Court of Thorns and Roses
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“In The Garret Four little chests all in a row, Dim with dust, and worn by time, All fashioned and filled, long ago, By children now in their prime. Four little keys hung side by side, With faded ribbons, brave and gay When fastened there, with childish pride, Long ago, on a rainy day. Four little names, one on each lid, Carved out by a boyish hand, And underneath there lieth hid Histories of the happy band Once playing here, and pausing oft To hear the sweet refrain, That came and went on the roof aloft, In the falling summer rain. 'Meg' on the first lid, smooth and fair. I look in with loving eyes, For folded here, with well-known care, A goodly gathering lies, The record of a peaceful life-- Gifts to gentle child and girl, A bridal gown, lines to a wife, A tiny shoe, a baby curl. No toys in this first chest remain, For all are carried away, In their old age, to join again In another small Meg's play. Ah, happy mother! Well I know You hear, like a sweet refrain, Lullabies ever soft and low In the falling summer rain. 'Jo' on the next lid, scratched and worn, And within a motley store Of headless dolls, of schoolbooks torn, Birds and beasts that speak no more, Spoils brought home from the fairy ground Only trod by youthful feet, Dreams of a future never found, Memories of a past still sweet, Half-writ poems, stories wild, April letters, warm and cold, Diaries of a wilful child, Hints of a woman early old, A woman in a lonely home, Hearing, like a sad refrain-- 'Be worthy, love, and love will come,' In the falling summer rain. My Beth! the dust is always swept From the lid that bears your name, As if by loving eyes that wept, By careful hands that often came. Death canonized for us one saint, Ever less human than divine, And still we lay, with tender plaint, Relics in this household shrine-- The silver bell, so seldom rung, The little cap which last she wore, The fair, dead Catherine that hung By angels borne above her door. The songs she sang, without lament, In her prison-house of pain, Forever are they sweetly blent With the falling summer rain. Upon the last lid's polished field-- Legend now both fair and true A gallant knight bears on his shield, 'Amy' in letters gold and blue. Within lie snoods that bound her hair, Slippers that have danced their last, Faded flowers laid by with care, Fans whose airy toils are past, Gay valentines, all ardent flames, Trifles that have borne their part In girlish hopes and fears and shames, The record of a maiden heart Now learning fairer, truer spells, Hearing, like a blithe refrain, The silver sound of bridal bells In the falling summer rain. Four little chests all in a row, Dim with dust, and worn by time, Four women, taught by weal and woe To love and labor in their prime. Four sisters, parted for an hour, None lost, one only gone before, Made by love's immortal power, Nearest and dearest evermore. Oh, when these hidden stores of ours Lie open to the Father's sight, May they be rich in golden hours, Deeds that show fairer for the light, Lives whose brave music long shall ring, Like a spirit-stirring strain, Souls that shall gladly soar and sing In the long sunshine after rain”

PoemTouchingSisters
Book:Little Women
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“Walking in the mountain with bare foot, Teasing the flowers with heavy soot, Touching the grasses, climbing the horses, swinging the girls It is joyful, jolly like the flying. Swimming in the rivers, tearing the clothes and burning the shoes Angel of the nature; counting the grasses, touching the flower, teasing the birds”

WalkingMountainRiversHeavyFlyingGirlsClimbingTouchingJoyfulFlowersHorsesTeasingSwingingGrassesBare Foot
Book:LOVE, HATRED AND MADNESS
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“I want to touch you first, ' he said, his voice so guttural I barely recognised it. 'Just- let me touch you.' He palmed my breast for emphasis. It was enough of a broken plea that I paused, yielding as his other hand again trailed lazy lines on my stomach. I can't breathe when I look at you. Let me touch you. Because I was jealous, and pissed off... She's mine. I shut out the thoughts, the bits and pieces he'd given me.”

DesireSexSarah J MaasFeyreFeyre ArcheronTouchingRhysandRhysA Court Of Mist And FuryOne Bed
Book:A Court of Mist and Fury
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“I wonder what Ali thought about Wallace? How did he view this tall, gawky, bearded eccentric man? Did Ali defend Wallace when villagers thought he was an evil demon? Did he secretly giggle when he heard Wallace speak Malay with a strong British accent? Did he gossip about his boss with other locals? Why was Wallace enthralled to discover a new beetle or ant? Did Ali see his time with Wallace as a chance to better himself, a grand adventure? Or was his work with Wallace simply a job?”

PassionCompassionHistoryHumourTouchingNatural WorldConversationsExplorerSpeculativeImagined
Book:"Look Here, Sir, What a Curious Bird": Searching for Ali, Alfred Russel Wallace's Faithful Companion
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“There's a lot of beauty to be found in sadness and melancholia. One of the things that you find time and time again - not just with music, but with literature - is that things that appear to be quite depressing on the surface can ironically be very uplifting and touching to other people. When you hear something that really reminds you that you're not alone in feeling sad, depressed, melancholic, angry - I think that can actually be a very cathartic experience.”

SadnessSadUpliftingMelancholyTouchingDepressing
Author:Steven Wilson
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“The truth was that they were longing to be alone in their own silence. They were used to big, open fields, slowly living their own life beside them. There, they were cemented, flesh to flesh, knowing in advance what the other was thinking about, knowing the word before it had left the mouth, knowing it even when it was still being formed with difficulty deep down in the breast. Here, the noise had cut them apart like a knife, and they had needed to touch each other by the arm or hand all day long to satisfy their hearts a little.”

LoveSilenceNoiseAloneTouching
Book:Regain
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“There was nothing ordinary about Ossie May. She was tall, sexy, smart, and pretty. Her looks and personality were her drawing cards. The flip side was her temperament. She was beauty and rage sandwiched together, and she must have invented cussing. She would unload swear word after swear word in rapid succession. There had to be a law against such offensive language.”

InspirationalTruthInspiringFamilyStruggleTouchingDysfunctional FamiliesFamily Humour
Book:Surviving Chaos: How I Found Peace at A Beach Bar
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“I tried so hard to fix what I'd ruined. I tried every single day to be what they wanted. I tried all the time to be better but I never really knew how. I only know now that the scientist are wrong. The world is flat. I know because I was tossed right off the edge and I've been trying to hold on for 17 years. I've been trying to climb back up for 17 years but its nearly impossible to beat gravity when no one is willing to give you a hand. When no one wants to risk touching you.”

Touching
Book:Shatter Me
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“His thumbs stroke over the soft skin under my ears, and his gaze drops before he suddenly lets go and retreats a full step. 'Damn it. Touching you was a bad idea.' 'The worst.' I agree, but my tongue skims my lower lip. He groans and my core melts at the sound. 'Kissing you would be a cataclysmic mistake.' 'Calamitous.' What would it take to hear that groan again? The inches between us feel like kindling, ready to burn at the first suggestion of hear, and I'm a living, breathing flame. This is everything I should run from, and yet denying the primal attraction I feel is completely, utterly impossible. 'We'll both regret it.' He shakes his head, but there's more than hunger in his eyes as he stares at my lips. 'Naturally,' I whisper. But knowing I'll regret it doesn't stop me from wanting it- wanting him. Regretting is a problem for future Violet. 'Fuck it.' One second he's out of reach and the next his mouth is on mine, hot and insistent. Gods, yes. This is exactly what I need.”

KissingKissTouchingVioletFourth WingViolet SorrengailRebecca YarrosXaden RiorsonXadenCataclysmic
Book:Fourth Wing
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“Matthew had sheepishly unfolded the dress from its paper swathings and held it out with a deprecatory glance at Marilla, who feigned to be contemptuously filling the teapot, but nevertheless watched the scene out of the corner of her eye with a rather interested air. Anne took the dress and looked at it in reverent silence. Oh, how pretty it was--a lovely soft brown gloria with all the gloss of silk; a skirt with dainty frills and shirrings; a waist elaborately pintucked in the most fashinable way, with a little ruffle of filmy lace at the neck. But the sleeves--they were the crowning glory! Long elbow cuffs, and above them two beautiful puffs divided by rows of shirring and bows of brown-silk ribbon.”

Touching
Book:Anne of Green Gables
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“Just as Wallace learned and evolved, Ali was on his own journey of discovery. Starting out as a 15-year-old cook, Ali learned to collect and mount specimens. He took on responsibility for organizing travel. He nursed Wallace during many bouts of fever and injury.”

HistoryHumourTouchingImaginativeNatural WorldBiographyConversationsExplorerSpeculativeImagined
Book:"Look Here, Sir, What a Curious Bird": Searching for Ali, Alfred Russel Wallace's Faithful Companion
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“He smiled his shy smile at her as he went into the yard. Anne took the memory of it with her when she went to her room that night and sat for a long while at her open window, thinking of the past and dreaming of the future. Outside the Snow Queen was mistily white in the moonshine; the frogs were singing in the marsh beyond Orchard Slope. Anne always remembered the silvery, peaceful beauty and fragrant calm of that night. It was the last night before sorrow touched her life; and no life is ever quite the same again when once that cold, sanctifying touch has been laid upon it.”

MemoriesLossBeautyTouchingTranquilityDreamy
Book:Anne of Green Gables
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“Touching him was always so important to me. It was something I lived for. I never could explain why. Little, nothing touches. My fingers against his shoulder. The outsides of our thighs touching as we squeezed together on the bus. I couldn't explain it, but I needed it. Sometimes I imagined stitching all of our little touches together. How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take to make love? Why does anyone ever make love?”

LoveTouchingMake Love
Book:Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close
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“I’ve come close enough a few times to know there’s no good way to go. Some ways are better than others, of course, but however it happens, the end result will always be the same. I guess all you can do is try to be happy and make the most of your days, so when the time comes, the people you leave behind can rest happy knowing you lived your best life.”

DeathMemoriesGriefTouchingNo RegretsPoignantTouching Moments
Book:A Matter of Life and Death
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“And since you asked so nicely.' He adjusts his stance and brings both his hands up to my cheeks, cradling my face before sliding them back to hold my head. 'Close your eyes.' 'It requires touching me?' My eyes flutter shut at the sensation of his skin against mine. 'Not at all. Just one of the perks of not thinking too clearly. You have incredibly touchable skin.”

TouchingFlirtingVioletFourth WingViolet SorrengailRebecca YarrosXaden RiorsonClose Your EyesTouchable
Book:Fourth Wing
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“It had not been the first time that we had said something like this to each other. It was not like guys went around saying it all the time to each other, but over the course of the years of being the best of friends; we had said it to each other. Justin had been the one to say it more often to me. It took me quite a few times before I could say it back to him. This was something much deeper and we both knew it.”

TouchingFriendship And Love
Book:Tormented Discovery
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“The only sounds in the cave were the hopeless, abandoned sobbing, and plop-plop-plop of the drips. Petra looked at us, then at the figure on the bed, then at us again, expectantly. When neither of us moved she appeared to decide that the initiative lay with her. She crossed to the bedside and knelt down concernedly beside it. Tentatively she put a hand on the dark hair. 'Don't,' she said. 'Please don't.' There was a startled catch in the sobbing. A pause, then a brown arm reached out round Petra's shoulders. The sound became a little less desolate ... it no longer tore at one's heart: but it left it bruised and aching..”

Touching
Book:The chrysalids
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“Forget about that and kiss me," I say. I weave my hands in her hair. She wraps her arms around my neck as I trace the valley between her lips with my tongue. Parting her lips, I deepen the kiss. It's like a tango, first moving slow and rhythmic and then, when we're both panting and our tongues collide, the kiss turns into a hot, fast dance I never want to end. Carmen's kisses may have been hot, but Brittany's are more sensual, sexy, and extremely addictive. We're still in the car, but it's cramped and the front seats don't give us enough room. Before I know it, we've moved to the backseat. Still not ideal, but I hardly notice. I'm so getting into her moans and kisses and hands in my hair. And the smell of vanilla cookies. I'm not going to push her too far tonight. But without thinking, my hand slowly moves up her bare thigh. "It feels so good," she says breathlessly. I lean her back while my hands explore on their own. My lips caress the hollow of her neck as I ease down the strap to her dress and bra. In response, she unbuttons my shirt. When it's open, her fingers roam over my chest and shoulders, searing my skin. "You're . . . perfect," she pants. Right now I'm not gonna argue with her. Moving lower, my tongue follows a path down to her silky skin exposed to the night air. She grabs the back of my hair, urging me on. She tastes so damn good. Too good. !Caramelo! I pull away a few inches and capture her gaze with mine, those shining sapphires glowing with desire. Talk about perfect. "I want you, chula," I say, my voice hoarse.”

KissingLipsTongueIntimateTouchingSpanishAlex FuentesBrittany Ellis
Book:Perfect Chemistry
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“Amy Martin (ladysky) and Daniel Baciagalupo had a month to spend on Charlotte Turner's island in Georgian Bay; it was their wilderness way of getting to know each other before their life together in Toronto began. We don't always have a choice how we get to know one another. Sometimes, people fall into our lives cleanly--as if out of the sky, or as if there were a direct flight from Heaven to Earth--the same sudden way we lose people, who once seemed they would always be part of our lives. Little Joe was gone, but not a day passed in Daniel Baciagalupo's life when Joe wasn't loved or remembered. The cook had been murdered in his bed, but Dominic Baciagalupo had had the last laugh on the cowboy. Ketchum's left hand would lvie forever in Twisted River, and Six-Pack had known what to do with the rest of her old friend”

Touching
Book:Last Night in Twisted River
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“Sophie dear,' I said. 'Are you in love with him - with this spider-man?' 'Oh, don't call him that - please - we can't any of us help being what we are. His name's Gordon. He's kind to me, David. He's fond of me. You've got to have as little as I have to know how much that means. You've never known loneliness. You can't understand the awful emptiness that's waiting all round us here. I'd have given him babies gladly, if I could. ... I - oh, why do they do that to us? Why didn't they kill me? It would have been kinder than this...' She sat without a sound. The tears squeezed out from under the closed lids and ran down her face. I took her hand between my own. I remembered watching. The man with his arm linked in the woman's, the small figure on top of the pack-horse waving back to me as they disappeared into the trees. Myself desolate, a kiss still damp on my cheek, a lock tied with a yellow ribbon in my hand. I looked at her now, and my heart ached.”

Touching
Book:The chrysalids
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“I'm willing to find out what this thing is going on between us. Are you?" "If we weren't outside," he says, "I'd show you--" I cut him off by grabbing the thick hair at the base of his neck and pulling that gorgeous head of his down. If we can't exactly have privacy right now, I'll settle for being real. Besides, everyone who we need to keep this a secret from is in school. Alex keeps his hands at his side, but when I part my lips, he groans against my mouth and his wrench drops to the ground with a loud clink. His strong hands wrap around me, making me feel protected. His velvet tongue mingles with mine, creating an unfamiliar melting sensation deep within my body. This is more than making out, it's . . . well, it feels like a lot more. His hands never stop moving; one circles my back while the other plays with my hair. Alex isn't the only one exploring. My hands are roving all over him, feeling his muscles tense beneath my hands and heightening my awareness of him. I touch his jaw and the roughness of a day's growth scratches my skin”

KissingTouchingMoreAlex FuentesBrittany EllisMaking Out
Book:Perfect Chemistry
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“His lips parted under hers, damp and soft and warm, and she forgot all of that. Her entire life focused in on the sensations, the gentle pressure that grew more intense the longer the kiss went on. Chaste kisses, then dirtier ones, and man, those tasted good. They tasted better the wider her mouth opened, and especially after his tongue touched hers. She could have done a whole semester of kissing with Shane. Intense personal study. With lab classes. Time really wasn’t happening for her, but eventually Claire realized that there was a soft glow coming from the windows, and she was numb and sore from sitting on the floor. She winced as a muscle in her back protested, and Shane reached out, pulled her up, and settled himself on the couch. He stretched out, and extended a hand to her. She stared, tingling and confused. “There’s no room.’” “Plenty of room,’” he said. She felt breathless and kind of wild, stretching out on the tiny area of sofa cushion available next to him, and then smothered a yelp as Shane picked her up and draped her over his chest and, oh my God, over all the rest of him, too. “Better?’” he asked, and raised his eyebrows. It was a real question, and he was looking for a real answer. Claire felt a blush building a fire in her cheeks, but she didn’t look away from his gaze. “Perfect,’” she said.”

PerfectKissingIntimateTouchingClaire DanversShane Collins
Book:The Dead Girls' Dance
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