Closed Fist Quotes

Never hit a man with a closed fist," he told her. He could feel her pulse.
"Why? Because it gives you an excuse to manhandle me?"
He let go. "Slap his face instead."
"Ha."
"It will make him take you less seriously, and then he won't be expecting it when you knee him in the groin. ~ Courtney Milan

He had hit with his closed fist and knocked her sprawling. It took talent to make Wyatt lose his temper, but Jessie knew just how to do it, and did it mainly just to have something happening. Pouring whiskey from bottle to glass was boring work. ~ Larry McMurtry

Imagine willpower as a closed fist and longing as an open hand. Try closing your fist. How long do you think you can hold that pose? A closed fist requires a lot of attention and energy, and so does willpower. Longing is effortless; it's just there, like an open hand. ~ Gudjon Bergmann

Answers are too often held in a closed fist, fingers wrapped tightly around them. They can isolate us and keep us in the same place, leaving us wondering why no one else is coming to us and our conclusions.
Questions balance on the tips of your outstretched fingers, open and welcoming, inviting fresh possibilities and refinement. Questions move you toward the world and toward community, drawing other into them and you into theirs. ~ Adam S. McHugh

Without delay, from the middle of his (closed) fist every pebble began to pronounce the (Moslem's) profession of faith. Each said, "There is no god" and (each) said, "except Allah"; (each) threaded the pearl of "Ahmad is the Messenger of Allah. ~ Jalaluddin Rumi

If a poem is concentrated, a closed fist, then a novel is relaxed and expansive, an open hand: it has roads, detours, destinations; a heart line, a head line; morals and money come into it. Where the fist excludes and stuns, the open hand can touch and encompass a great deal in its travels. ~ Sylvia Plath

Despite popular belief, hitting someone with a closed fist actually hurts the hitter almost as much as the hittee. ~ Ally Carter

Storm Warnings

The glass has been falling all the afternoon,
And knowing better than the instrument
What winds are walking overhead, what zone
Of grey unrest is moving across the land,
I leave the book upon a pillowed chair
And walk from window to closed window, watching
Boughs strain against the sky

And think again, as often when the air
Moves inward toward a silent core of waiting,
How with a single purpose time has traveled
By secret currents of the undiscerned
Into this polar realm. Weather abroad
And weather in the heart alike come on
Regardless of prediction.

Between foreseeing and averting change
Lies all the mastery of elements
Which clocks and weatherglasses cannot alter.
Time in the hand is not control of time,
Nor shattered fragments of an instrument
A proof against the wind; the wind will rise,
We can only close the shutters.

I draw the curtains as the sky goes black
And set a match to candles sheathed in glass
Against the keyhole draught, the insistent whine
Of weather through the unsealed aperture.
This is our sole defense against the season;
These are the things we have learned to do
Who live in troubled regions. ~ Adrienne Rich

It is important never to separate love and knowledge, compassion and wisdom. A wisdom without compassion is closed upon itself and does not bear fruit. A compassion without wisdom is a madness and a cause of suffering. ~ Jean-Yves Leloup

By Saturday night we still didn't have Jeb's body. Mom and I ate dinner quietly, letting the shared pizza and the noise of the TV substitute for the companionship and conversation of a real relationship. The Simpsons was on, but I wasn't really watching - I wanted that body. If the police kept it much longer, we wouldn't be able to embalm it at all, just seal it in a bag and hold a closed-casket funeral. ~ Dan Wells

The will is in the cedar box in our bedroom closet,' she said into his hair. Declan closed his eyes. He whispered, 'I hate him.'
'My dauntless Declan,' Aurora said, and then she slid softly to the floor. ~ Maggie Stiefvater

Gently Aethelbald lowered his face to hers and kissed her on her charred and blackened mouth. She closed her eyes and felt she could not bear such exquisite pain or beauty. ~ Anne Elisabeth Stengl

You gotta find a life outside this office," he threw out a hand then pinned his eyes on me. "You gotta find a man."
My back snapped straight. "Tack, really - "
He didn't miss my response. He just misinterpreted it.
"Don't go woman on me and tell me you don't need a man to complete you. It's bullshit. Woman looks like you, goddamn waste. But a woman who has the love you got to give, that's not a waste. That's a crying shame."
I closed my mouth because that was sweet.
Then I opened it to remind him, "Uh, FYI, I can't go woman on you since I am a woman, so going woman is redundant. ~ Kristen Ashley

I wanted to go to him then? Not all of me but the same part he'd just hurt. I don't understand this pull, still. I think it must be a really dangerous physics, the gravity of wound to fist. You can see it happen to the other animals. When a hunter or trapper begins kicking at an alligator, its body curls to accommodate the withdrawing foot. ~ Karen Russell

Come here, Amanda." His voice was a low scrape of sound.
"Oh, I can't," she said unsteadily. "I-I think you should go now."
Jack leaned forward and caught her wrist gently in his fingers. "I won't hurt you," he whispered. "I won't do anything that you don't like. But before I leave you this evening, I'm going to hold you in my arms."
Confusion and desire swirled inside her, making her feel unanchored, helpless. She let him pull her forward until her short limbs rested stiffly against his much longer ones. He ran a large palm down her back, and she could feel a trail of sensation in its wake. His skin was hot, as if a fire burned right beneath the smooth golden surface.
Her breath shortened, and she closed her eyes, shivering, luxuriating in the feeling of being warm all the way down to her bones. For the first time in her life, she let her head fall into the waiting crook of a man's arm, and stared up at his shadowed face.
As he felt the trembling of her limbs, he made a crooning sound and cuddled her closer. "Don't be afraid, mhuirnin. I won't hurt you."
"What did you call me?" she asked in bewilderment.
He smiled down at her. "A small endearment. Did I neglect to mention that I'm half Irish?"
That explained his accent, the neat cultured tones tempered with a sort of musical softness that must be Celtic in origin. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Her raised his face to the weeping sky, closed his dark eyes, and sighed deeply, a smile playing on his sensuous lips. The bloody hour is come. ~ Rick Yancey

I'm not sure what is worse, a closed mind or a closed book. ~ Anthony Liccione

Did your mother not teach you any manners?" I huff.

"We're. Fucking. Closed. You're fucking welcome. ~ Tara Sivec

I do not want my house to be rounded by walls and my windows to be closed to other cultures. I wish to become familiar with the culture of lands as much as possible but I will not permit them to affect me or shake me from my own status. ~ Mahatma Gandhi

Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green, With magic tints to harmonize the scene. Stilled is the hum that through the hamlet broke When round the ruins of their ancient oak The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play, And games and carols closed the busy day. ~ Samuel Rogers

I nearly gave a fist pump. Thank God for rules I was totally clueless about. ~ Aileen Erin

How concrete everything becomes in the world of the spirit when an object, a mere door, can give images of hesitation, temptation, desire, security, welcome and respect. If one were to give an account of all the doors one has closed and opened, of all the doors one would like to re-open, one would have to tell the story of one's entire life. ~ Gaston Bachelard

In order to keep liking Nick (as opposed to loving him which was completely non-negotiable) Alice sometimes had to look at him obliquely or with her eyes half closed or through a pin hole on a piece of cardboard. Straight on would burn her retinas. ~ Carol Anshow

I hold out my fist and knock on the glass. I watch Abram's brain process the sound, probably doesn't hear it very often unless he's got a late-night side-skank I'm unaware of, and he better not. ~ Jay Clark

In the living room Derek sprawled on the floor on a blanket, his eyes closed, his body human, corded with hard muscle, and covered only with a strategically placed towel. Julie knelt by him, long tweezers in her hand.
"What's going on?"
"Quills," she said. "Very thin quills. There was a magic plant and he decided it would be a good idea to give it a hug. Because he is smart that way."
So they had taken Julie with them. Considering where I'd gone and what I did while there, I didn't have room to talk.
Derek didn't bother opening his eyes. "I wasn't giving it a hug. I was shielding Ella."
"Mm-hm." Julie plucked a thin needle from his stomach. "You shielded her really well. Because it's not like we didn't have Carlos with us."
Carlos was a firebug. The plant must've gotten torched.
"We'll need to work on mixed-unit tactics," Curran said. He looked tired. It must've been hell. "So what did you do in Mishmar?"
Umm. Ehh. In my head I had somehow expected Erra to stay in Mishmar.
"I saw my father," I said. Start small.
"How was that?" Curran asked.
"He's a little upset with me."
"Aha."
"I broke Mishmar a little bit."
The three of them looked at me.
"But it was mostly my grandmother who did it."
"How much is a little bit?" Derek asked.
"There might be a crack. About maybe seven feet at the widest point."
Derek laughed.
"And what else?" Curran asked.
Perceptive bastard.
"And this." ~ Ilona Andrews

Her blue, almond-shaped eyes - now even more elongated - had altered in appearance; they were indeed of the same colour, but seemed to have passed into a liquid state. So much so that, when she closed them, it was as though a pair of curtains had been drawn to shut out a view of the sea. ~ Marcel Proust

The case is closed, Mr. Poldark. You will kindly step down." "Otherwise," said Dr. Halse, "we will have you committed for contempt of court." Ross bowed slightly. "I can only assure you, sir, that such a committal would be a reading of my inmost thoughts. ~ Winston Graham

She smoothed down my hair and kissed my cheek. I suddenly felt like I was five years old again. I closed my eyes, relishing the feeling. I'd been feeling too old lately. ~ Aprille Legacy

I pretended to be an open book, but I was closed off and conceited. ~ Coco J. Ginger

If we are on the outside, we assume a conspiracy is the perfect working of a scheme. Silent nameless men with unadorned hearts. A conspiracy is everything that ordinary life is not. It's the inside game, cold, sure, undistracted, forever closed off to us. We are the flawed ones, the innocents, trying to make some rough sense of the daily jostle. Conspirators have a logic and a daring beyond our reach. All conspiracies are the same taut story of men who find coherence in some criminal act. ~ Don DeLillo

Stepping lithe and incredulous from the study; of Karras, emerging bewildered from the kitchen while the nightmarish poundings and croakings continued. Merrin went calmly up the staircase, a slender hand like alabaster sliding upward on the banister. Karras came up beside Chris, and together they watched from below as Merrin entered Regan's bedroom and closed the door behind him. For a time there was silence. Then abruptly the demon laughed hideously and Merrin swiftly exited the room, closed the door, then moved quickly down the hall while behind him the bedroom door opened again and Sharon poked her head out, staring after him with an odd expression on her face. Merrin descended the staircase rapidly and put out his hand to the waiting Karras. ~ William Peter Blatty

She covered her body with a feather, reached under her legs, and threw her panties into the audience. A flying herpes rag. A hipster with mutton-chop sideburns caught it. He crumpled it in his fist and thrust it into the air excitedly. His little venereal prize. A ~ Neil Strauss

I could never myself believe in God, if it were not for the cross. The only God I believe in is the One Nietzsche ridiculed as 'God on the cross.' In the real world of pain, how could one worship a God who was immune to it? I have entered many Buddhist temples in different Asian countries and stood respectfully before the statue of the Buddha, his legs crossed, arms folded, eyes closed, the ghost of a smile playing round his mouth, a remote look on his face, detached from the agonies of the world. But each time after a while I have had to turn away. And in imagination I have turned instead to that lonely, twisted, tortured figure on the cross, nails through hands and feet, back lacerated, limbs wrenched, brow bleeding from thorn-pricks, mouth dry and intolerably thirsty, plunged in Godforsaken darkness. That is the God for me! He laid aside his immunity to pain. He entered our world of flesh and blood, tears and death. He suffered for us. Our sufferings become more manageable in the light of his. There is still a question mark against human suffering, but over it we boldly stamp another mark, the cross that symbolizes divine suffering. 'The cross of Christ ... is God's only self-justification in such a world" as ours....' 'The other gods were strong; but thou wast weak; they rode, but thou didst stumble to a throne; But to our wounds only God's wounds can speak, And not a god has wounds, but thou alone. ~ John R.W. Stott

A bird painted not with beauty but with all the dirt and wounds collected in a long hard life, in battle, in love, with torn feathers and a busted leg and a chipped beak and one of its eyes half closed; and yet a bird of deeper loveliness for all of that. ~ Jeff Noon

Hilary peered over her shoulder at Cam, letting her eyes lazily take him in, "See you soon, tiger."
They both watched as the door closed behind her.
Cam made a moaning sound with a wild expression across his face. "She's going to be fun to tame. ~ Stacey O'Neale

Decency: the inexplicable: the ground of all ethics. Things we do not do. We do not stare when the soul leaves the body, but veil our eyes with tears or cover them with our hands. We do not stare at scars, which are places where the soul has struggled to leave and been forced back, closed up, sewn in. ~ J.M. Coetzee

Grimaud left the chamber, and led the way to the hall, where, according
to the custom of the province, the body was laid out, previously to
being put away forever. D'Artagnan was struck at seeing two open coffins
in the hall. In reply to the mute invitation of Grimaud, he approached,
and saw in one of them Athos, still handsome in death, and, in the
other, Raoul with his eyes closed, his cheeks pearly as those of the
Palls of Virgil, with a smile on his violet lips. He shuddered at seeing
the father and son, those two departed souls, represented on earth by
two silent, melancholy bodies, incapable of touching each other, however
close they might be. ~ Alexandre Dumas

Someone pounded on the office door. Barabas moved to the door, slid aside the metal shutter covering the narrow spy window, and looked through it."It's your lover man."
"Barabas, open the damn door," Raphael snarled.
Barabas slid the shutter closed. "Do you want me to let him in?"
"I'm thinking about it."
Barabas slid the shutter open. "She's thinking about it. ~ Ilona Andrews

It cannot be helped." Gorgoth's hands closed into massive fists. "It's in his dena." "His dinner? ~ Mark Lawrence

The waters which we spread upon the desert have become blood. Blood upon our land! Behold our desert which could
rejoice and blossom; it has lured the stranger and seduced him in our midst.
They come for violence! Their faces are closed up as for the last wind of
Kralizec! They gather the captivity of the sand. They suck up the abundance of
the sand, the treasure hidden in the depths. Behold them as they go forth to
their evil work. It is written: 'And I stood upon the sand, and I saw a beast
rise up out of that sand, and upon the head of that beast was the name of God! ~ Frank Herbert

I bunch Rachel's hair in my fist. The silky strands rub the spot between my fingers and I press my lips to her head. My heart hurts and soars and hurts again, all at the same time. I said I love her. Love her. ~ Katie McGarry

I always tried to be open-minded, but not so open-minded that my brains would fall out. As G. K. Chesterton says, "The purpose of opening the mind, as of opening the mouth, is to close it again on something solid." I opened my mind, and I finally closed it on the most solid reality I had ever experienced. On December 19, 1959, at 8:30PM, during my second year at the university, I became a Christian. ~ Josh McDowell

Smiling seductively, I run my eyes over him as I slowly part my legs and reach down between my wet thighs, running my fingers over my clit. His eyes follow the move, and his mouth parts as he unconsciously licks his lips. "Wider," he instructs gruffly, reaching down to fist his cock. ~ Ella Frank

He is never going to be here, I thought. He is never coming back.
Was I okay with it? No. But missing him every day for the rest of my life was still easier than the fight Sebastian had: to stuff himself inside a box every morning and tuck that box inside his heart and pray that his heart kept beating around the obstacle. Every day I could go to class as exactly the person I am, and meet new people, and come outside later for some fresh air and Frisbee. Every day I would be grateful that no one who matters to me questions whether I am too masculine, too feminine, too open, too closed.
Every day I would be grateful for what I have, and that I can be who I am without judgment.
So every day I would fight for Sebastian, and people in the same boat, who don't have what I do, who struggle to find themselves in a world that tells them white and straight and narrow gets first pick in the schoolyard game of life.
My chest was congested with regret, and relief, and resolve. Give me more of those, I thought to whoever was listening - whether it was God, or Oz, or the three sisters of Fate. Give me those moments where I think he's coming back. I can take the hurt. The reminder that he's not coming back - and why - will keep me fighting. ~ Christina Lauren

If you look around and see nothing but closed doors, then look again. It might be that you have to climb through a window. ~ Kent Allan Rees

But I would always see her. Until I drew my last breath, it would always be her face I saw when I closed my eyes at night, and her face again when I woke each morning. I would force myself to forget the last words I heard from her lips. I would remember others. I love you, Jafir de Aldrid. Words that, now, I was sure I had never deserved. I ~ Mary E. Pearson

The infant runs toward it with its eyes closed, the adult is stationary, the old man approaches it with his back turned. ~ Denis Diderot

You don't think the dead guy is Miguel Flores."
"I think the dead guy's name was Lino."
"But ... that means maybe he wasn't even a priest, and he was up there doing the Mass thing, and marrying people, burying people."
"Maybe God struck him down for it. Case closed. We'll arrest God before end of shift. I want those dental records, and the dental records from New York."
"I'm pretty sure that arrest God stuff is blasphemy. ~ J.D. Robb

I could only reply that I think---I theorise--that something--something else--happens to the memory over time. For years you survive with the same loops, the same facts and the same emotions...The events reconfirm the emotions--resentment, a sense of injustice, relief--and vice versa. There seems no way of accessing anything else; the case is closed. But what if, even at a late stage, your emotions relating to those long-ago events and people change? That ugly letter of mine provoked remorse in me...I felt a new sympathy for them--and her. Then, not long afterwards, I began remembering forgotten things. ~ Julian Barnes

Being stuck in here sucks, and I'm scared. But I appreciate you. Nurses are in and out of here all day, but no one takes the time you do to make me feel comfortable. I notice you tidying my messes and watering my stupid flowers, and it means a lot. So...thank you.
–HJP>
I read it again. And again. My throat closed. Other patients had made me feel this way, my little dude Jason being the most recent, but knowing that I'd successfully made Harrison feel comfortable, feel special... knowing a man who wrote beautiful words for a living had taken the time to write to me, just for doing my job...
I ran my thumb over the three letters that made up his initials.
I looked up at him. His right hand rested on his face, palm flat, fingers touching the curve of skin between his lips and jaw. With the smallest smile imaginable, he moved his arm down and out toward me.
Thank you ~ Peter Styles

The guy offered his left fist. Reacher bumped it with his right, behind DeLong's back. Not the first time his knuckles had touched a Sox fan, but by far the gentlest. ~ Lee Child

The revolution here is from hierarchical to lateral power. That's the power shift. So increasingly a younger generation that's grown up on the internet and now increasingly distributing renewable energies, they're measuring politics in terms of a struggle between centralized, hierarchical, top-down and closed and proprietary, versus distributed, open, collaborative, transparent. This shift, from hierarchical to lateral power, is going to change the way we live, the way we educate our children, and the way we govern the world. ~ Jeremy Rifkin

"Don't worry."" Arriane stood next to Luce. "This place is like a reject revolving door. People come and go all the time because of some parole issue crazy parents whatever. Randy's off tonight. No one else gives a damn. If anyone gives you a second look- just give 'em a third one. Or send them over to me."" She made a fist. ~ Lauren Kate

There, just beyond his open palm, was our mother's face. I wasn't expecting it. We hadn't requested a viewing, and the memorial service was closed-coffin. We got it anyway. They'd shampooed and waved her hair and made up her face. They'd done a great job, but I felt taken, as if we'd asked for the basic carwash and they'd gone ahead and detailed her. Hey, I wanted to say, we didn't order this. But of course I said nothing. Death makes us helplessly polite. ~ Mary Roach