No Touching At All Quotes

I've been trying not to think about the things I wanted but couldn't have.
I figured life must be about what you can't have.
Some part of me has given up wanting anything.
Why? I'm human, aren't I?
Even though I knew that this was pointless.
Why did I fall in love? ~ Kou Yoneda

He saw her as the passionate spirit of innocent youth, now beleaguered by the trick which is played on youth - the trick of treachery in the body, which turns flesh into green bones. Her stupid finery was not vulgar to him, but touching. The girl was still there, still appealing from behind the breaking barricade of rouge. She had made the brave protest: I will not be vanquished. Under the clumsy coquetry, the undignified clothes, there was the human cry for help. The young eyes were puzzled, saying: It is I, inside here - what have they done to me? I will not submit. Some part of her spirit knew that the powder was making a guy of her, and hated it, and tried to hold her lover with the eyes alone. They said: Don't look at all this. Look at me. I am still here, in the eyes. Look at me, here in the prison, and help me out. Another part said: I am not old, it is illusion. I am beautifully made-up. See, I will perform the movements of youth. I will defy the enormous army of age. ~ T.H. White

It's important to keep up appearances with books," I explained. "Image goes a long way in this business."

He dared a look over at me, still nervous but steadily recovering his composure. "I go more for content."

"Really?" I repositioned slightly so that we were touching again, the soft flannel of his shirt brushing my bare skin. "Because I could have sworn a moment ago you were pretty caught up in outside appearance."

His eyes shifted down again, but I could see a smile curving his lips. "Well. Some things are so striking, they can't help but draw attention to themselves."

"And doesn't that make you curious about what's inside?"

"Mostly it makes me want to get you some advanced copies."

Advanced copies? What did he - ?

"Seth? Seth, where - ah, there you are." Paige turned down our aisle, Doug following behind. She brightened when she saw me, and I felt my stomach sink out of me and hit the floor with a thud as I put two and two together. No. No. It couldn't be -

"Ah, Georgina. I see you've already met Seth Mortensen. ~ Richelle Mead

Suddenly, the swan dropped down from the sky, flew low over the swamp, almost touching the water, just slow enough to have a closer look at the girl. The sight of the swan's cold eye staring straight into hers, made the girl feel exposed, hunted and found, while all those who had suddenly stopped eating fish, watched this big black thing look straight at the only person that nobody had ever bothered having a close look at. Her breathing went AWOL while her mind stitched row after row of fretting to strangle her breath: What are they thinking about me now? What did the swan have to single me out for and not anyone else standing around? What kind of premonition is this? Heart-thump thinking was really tricky for her. She feasted on a plague of outsidedness. It was always better never to have to think about what other people thought of her. ~ Alexis Wright

My sweetheart, my love, my love, my love - do you know what - all the happiness of the world, the riches, power and adventures, all the promises of religions, all the enchantment of nature and even human fame are not worth your two letters. It was a night of horror, terrible anguish, when I imagined that your undelivered letter, stuck at some unknown post office, was being destroyed like a sick little stray dog . . . But today it arrived - and now it seems to me that in the mailbox where it was lying, in the sack where it was shaking, all the other letters absorbed, just by touching it, your unique charm and that that day all Germans received strange wonderful letters - letters that had gone mad because they had touched your handwriting. The thought that you exist is so divinely blissful in itself that it is ridiculous to talk about the everyday sadness of separation - a week's, ten days' - what does it matter? since my whole life belongs to you. I wake at night and know that you are together with me, - I sense your sweet long legs, your neck through your hair, your trembling eyelashes - and then such happiness, such simmering bliss follows me in my dreams that I simply suffocate . . . ~ Vladimir Nabokov

Then there are other stories, touching ones, that don't belong to me.
The other day a friend related a story he'd heard from one of Chris's old schoolmates. Back in high school, a student who didn't particularly know Chris had found the only open seat at the "cool" lunch table.
"What are you doing?" said one of the kids. "You can't sit here."
"Uh--"
Chris walked up and sat down. "Have a seat," he told the young man.
He did. And no one bothered him at school the rest of the year. ~ Taya Kyle

Meditation is really quite simple. All we have to do is embrace each experience with awareness and open our hearts fully to the present moment. When we are completely at ease with our own being, the ripples of awareness naturally spread out in all directions, touching the lives of everyone we meet. ~ Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche

Now that he was actually introducing Eleanor to his mom, he couldn't help but see her the way his mom was going to.
His mom was a beautician who sold Avon. She never left the house without touching up her mascara. When Patti Smith was on Saturday Night Live, his mom had gotten upset – "Why she want to look like man? It's so sad."
Eleanor, today, was wearing her sharkskin suit jacket and an old plaid cowboy shirt. She had more in common with his grandpa than his mom.
And it wasn't just the clothes. It was her.
Eleanor wasn't … nice.
She was good. She was honorable. She was honest. She would definitely help an old lady across the street. But nobody – not even the old lady – would ever say, 'Have you met that Eleanor Douglas? What a nice girl.'
Park's mom liked nice. She loved nice. She liked smiling and small talk and eye contact … All things Eleanor sucked at.
Also, his mom didn't get sarcasm. And he was pretty sure it wasn't a language thing. She just didn't get it. She called David Letterman "the ugly, mean one on after Johnny. ~ Rainbow Rowell

Others, faced with Turner's competitiveness were less contented. C.R. Leslie was on hand when Turner's Helvoetsluys, to start with "a grey pictre, beautiful and true, but with no positive colour in any part of it", was hung next to Constable's Opening of Waterloo Bridge Leslie wrote that Constable's painting looked as if painted with liquid gold and silver, and Turner came several times into the room while Constable was heightening with vermilion and lake the decorations and flags of the city barges. Turner stood behind Constable, looking from "Waterloo" to his own picture, and at last went and got his palette from the Great Room where he had been touching another picture. He then put a round daub of red lead,

"somewhat bigger than a shilling, on his grey sea, [and] went away without saying a word. The intensity of the red lead, made more vivid by the coolness of his picture, caused even the vermilion and lake of Constable to look weak. I came into the room just as Turner left it. "He as been here," Said Constable, "and fired a gun. ~ Anthony Bailey

How do you give someone the best pain of their life without touching them?"
Kingsley raised the cigarette to his lips again. He heard a snapping sound, and the cigarette no longer held a flame. For a long time he looked at his cigarette before slowly turning his head toward Søren who held a bullwhip in his hand. Casually Søren coiled it.
Cigarette lit.
Bullwhip snap.
Cigarette not lit anymore.
He held the stub in his hand split in two.
"Any other questions?" Søren asked with an arrogant lift of his eyebrow. ~ Tiffany Reisz

Blue said, 'Ronan could dream a bridge for us.'
Ronan made a noise of glorious disdain.
'Don't just snort at me! Tell me why not. You're a magical creature. Why can't you do magic?'
With acidic precision, Ronan replied, 'For starters, I'd have to sleep right there by the pit, since I'd have to be touching something to pull it out of a dream. And I'd have to know what was on the other side to even know what kind of bridge to make. And then, even if I pulled all that off, if I took something that big out of my dream, it would drain the ley line, possible making Cabeswater disappear again, this time with us in it, sending us all to some never-never land of time-space fuckery that we might never escape from. I figured after the events of this summer, all this was self-evident, which was why I summed it up before like so - '
Ronan repeated the noise of glorious disdain.
'Thanks for the super helpful alternative suggestions, Ronan Lynch. Your contribution at the end of the world will be tallied up accordingly,' Blue said. ~ Maggie Stiefvater

Ever in my life have I sought thee with my songs. It was they who led me from door to door, and with them have I felt about me, searching and touching my world.
It was my songs that taught me all the lessons I ever learnt; they showed me secret paths, they brought before my sight many a star on the horizon of my heart.
They guided me all the day long to the mysteries of the country of pleasure and pain, and, at last, to what palace gate have the brought me in the evening at the end of my journey? ~ Rabindranath Tagore

He didn't object as she took up a place at the head of the tub and dumped some of the tonic into his short hair. The sweet, night-filled scent of jasmine floated up, caressing and kissing her. Even Rowan breathed it in as she scrubbed the tonic into his scalp. "I could still probably braid this," she mused. "Very teensy-tiny braids, so - " He growled, but leaned back against the tub, his eyes closed. "You're no better than a house cat," she said, massaging his head. He let out a low noise in his throat that might have very well have been a purr.

Washing his hair was intimate-a privilege she doubted he'd ever allowed many people; something she'd never done for anyone else. But lines had always been blurred for them, and neither of them had particularly cared. He'd seen every inch of her several times, and she'd seen most of him. They'd shared a bed for months. On top of that, they were carranam. He'd let her inside his power, past his inner barriers, to where half a thought from her could have shattered his mind. So washing his hair, touching him... it was an intimacy, but it was essential, too. ~ Sarah J. Maas

I twirl away, then back to him, staying on my toes, my hips always lightly rotating. He reacts clumsily at first, but soon the awkwardness fades away and he begins matching my movements, reflecting them in reverse. We dance like this, wrist to wrist, twirl and turn, step for step, for several more minutes. He holds my gaze, our eyes connecting at every turn, anticipating one another's movements.
His pulse is so strong against my wrist that it echoes through me, almost like a heartbeat of my own. My skin warms; my breath catches in my throat. I know how closely I dance along the line of destruction, but I cannot pull myself away. He is intoxicating, his force of life an addiction I cannot refuse. I have not felt this alive in centuries, not since you, Habiba, when you taught me the dance of Fahradan. Ours was a dance of giddy laughter, a dance of friends, sisters, a dance of life and youth and hope.
But this dance is different.
It is not I but he who entices, reversing the ancient roles of the dance. And I resist because I must, because if I don't, because if I give in to the all-too-human desires racing through me - then it is Aladdin who will pay the terrible price.
"Stop." I drop my wrists and step away, and he does the same, still caught up in mirroring me. Except that he is breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with exertion, his eyes filled with a strange, wondrous, curious look as he stares at me. He moves closer, his eyes fixed on mine, an ~ Jessica Khoury

It's a beautiful smile. One that brightens the rat-infested attic room. No one has ever smiled like that at me. No one. Everything inside me twists with the need to keep her close.
I should be pissed. Who knows if I'll ever see the money from Eric. Who knows if Noah and I will lose the lease, sending me back into the system. Right now, I don't f*cking care. I'm touching an angel. ~ Katie McGarry

Every gift comes with a price." I frowned, and he grinned. "A kiss."
"Absolutely not!" But my blood raced, and I had to clench my hands in the grass to keep from touching him. "Don't you think it puts me at a disadvantage to not be able to see all this?"
"I'm one of the High Fae - we don't give anything without gaining something from it."
To my own surprise, I said, "Fine."
He blinked, probably expecting me to have fought a little harder. I hid my smile and sat up so that I faced him, our knees touching as we knelt in the grass.
"What about your part of the bargain?"
"What?"
He leaned closer, his smile turning wicked. "What about my kiss?"
I grabbed his fingers. "Here," I said, and slammed my mouth against the back of his hand. "There's your kiss. ~ Sarah J. Maas

I didn't cry out and I didn't weep when I was told that my son Henri was a prisoner in his own world, when it was confirmed that he is one of those children who don't hear us, don't speak to us, even though they're neither deaf nor mute. He is also one of those children we must love from a distance, neither touching, nor kissing, not smiling at them because every one of their senses would be assaulted by the odour of our skin, by the intensity of our voices, the texture of our hair, the throbbing of our hearts. Probably he'll never call me maman lovingly, even if he can pronounce the world poire with all the roundness and sensuality of the oi sound. He will never understand why I cried when he smiled for the first time. He won't know that, thanks to him, every spark of joy has become a blessing and that I will keep waging war against autism, even if I know already that it's invincible. Already, I am defeated, stripped bare, beaten down. ~ Kim Thuy

The Leftist does not have time on his side. He's always in a rush. He produces speed everywhere so as to force you into hysterics or into a daze. But it's not the kind of speed that propels you far away so that you find yourself stunned at having covered so much ground, stunned by the change of perspective and of thinking. Instead, it's the haste of the monkey scratching at the same spot till a sore develops. That kind of animal will go on in public monologue to no end, rambling about the difficulty of being together; he will change the world without touching himself and keep running after a certain month of May; he will continue to live his sexuality divorced from thought, and thoughtlessly if possible, in obscure situations where identity and groundwork are not risk and desire is not exposed. ~ Guy Hocquenghem

Whenever I design any variant, or when anybody sends me one, I always say if at all possible within the context of the game don't have two home supply centers touching each other. ~ Fred Davis

Have you kissed many boys before?" he asked quietly.
His question brought my mind back into focus. I raised an eyebrow. "Boys? That's an assumption."
Noah laughed, the sound low and husky. "Girls, then?"
"No."
"Not many girls? Or not many boys?"
"Neither," I said. Let him make of that what he would.
"How many?"
"Why - "
"I am taking away that word. You are no longer allowed to use it. How many?"
My cheeks flushed, but my voice was steady as I answered. "One."
At this, Noah leaned in impossibly closer, the slender muscles in his forearm flexing as he bent his elbow to bring himself nearer to me, almost touching. I was heady with the proximity of him and grew legitimately concerned that my heart might explode. Maybe Noah wasn't asking. Maybe I didn't mind. I closed my eyes and felt Noah's five o' clock graze my jaw, and the faintest whisper of his lips at my ear.
"He was doing it wrong. ~ Michelle Hodkin

She was too compelling to look at directly. Bright like the sun, bright and terrible. Only one other being could look upon her, and that was Death. And so…they became lovers."
He said the word like a caress, like velvet again, and my face began to heat.
"Together they forged great and hellish things," Jesse murmured. "Lightning and waterfalls that churned into clouds off the tip of the world. Chasms so winding deep that daylight never traced their endings. They dreamed through golden days and silvered nights. All the other creatures envied or adored them, because Death and the Elemental were destruction and creation joined as One. In the natural order of things, they should not have been stronger joined. And yet they were."
He shifted, coming closer to me. A hand settled lightly atop my chest, directly over my heart. At our feet the seawater splashed a little, as if disturbed by something rolling over in the dark, distant deep.
"Centuries passed, and mankind began to devour the earth, even the wildest places. They had tools to invent and wars to fight and grubby, short lives. Nothing about them dwelled in the magic of the ancient spirits. So although Death, the Great Hunter, prospered as he sieved through their villages, the Elemental, strong as she once was, thinned into a web of gossamer. Human lives simply tore her apart."
His hand was so warm. Warmer than I, warmer than the air, and still just barely touching me. The light behind my lids never lif ~ Shana Abe

I bent down over my neighborhood, taking in the people there. At first, they'd just seemed arranged the same way they were everywhere else: in random formations, some in groups, some alone. Then, though, I saw the single figure at the back of my house, walking away from the back door. And another person, a girl, running through the side yard, where the hedge would have been, while someone else, with a badge and flashlight followed. There were three people under the basketball goal, one lying prone on the ground.

I took a breath, then moved in closer. Two people were seated on the curb between Dave's and my houses: a few inches away two more walked up the narrow alley to Luna Blu's back door. A couple stood in the driveway, facing each other. And in that empty building, the old hotel, a tiny set of cellar doors had been added, flung open, a figure standing before them. Whether they were about to go down, or just coming up, was unclear, and the cellar itself was a dark square. But I knew what was down below.

He'd put me everywhere. Every single place I'd been, with him or without, from the first time we'd met to the last conversation. It was all there, laid out as carefully, as real as the buildings and streets around it. I swallowed, hard, then reached forward, touching the girl running through the hedge. Not Liz Sweet. Not anyone, at that moment, not yet. But on her way to someone. To me. ~ Sarah Dessen

Feeling the slight tremor of his fingers against her skin, Daisy was emboldened to remark, "I've never been attracted to tall men before. But you make me feel - "
"If you don't keep quiet," he interrupted curtly, "I'm going to strangle you."
Daisy felt silent, listening to the rhythm of his breath as it turned deeper, less controlled. By contrast his fingers became more certain in their task, working along the row of pearls until her dress gaped open and the sleeves slipped from her shoulders.
"Where is it?" he asked.
"The key?"
His tone was deadly. "Yes, Daisy. The key."
"It fell inside my corset. Which means… I'll have to take that off too."
There was no reaction to the statement, no sound or movement. Daisy twisted to glance at Matthew.
He seemed dazed. His eyes looked unnaturally blue against the flush on his face. She realized he was occupied with a savage inner battle to keep from touching her.
Feeling hot and prickly with embarrassment, Daisy pulled her arms completely out of her sleeves. She worked the dress over her hips, wriggling out of the filmy white layers, letting them slide to the floor in a heap.
Matthew stared at the discarded dress as if it were some kind of exotic fauna he had never seen before. Slowly his eyes returned to Daisy, and an incoherent protest came from his throat as she began to unhook her corset.
She felt shy and wicked, undressing in front of him. But she was encouraged by the ~ Lisa Kleypas

Emma, calm down. I had to know-"
I point my finger in his face, almost touching his eyeball. "It's one thing for me to give your permission to look into it. But I'm pretty sure looking into it without my consent is illegal. In fact, I'm pretty sure everything that woman does is illegal. Do you even know what the Mafia is, Galen?"
His eyebrows lift in surprise. "She told you who she is? I mean, who she used to be?"
I nod. "While you were checking in with Grom. Once in the Mob, always in the Mob, if you ask me. How else would she get all her money? But I guess you wouldn't care about that, since she buys you houses and cars and fake IDs." I snatch my wrist away and turn back toward our hotel. At least, I hope it's our hotel.
Galen laughs. "Emma, it's not Rachel's money; it's mine."
I whirl on him. "You are a fish. You don't have a job. And I don't think Syrena currency has any of our presidents on it." Now "our" means I'm human again. I wish I could make up my mind.
He crosses his arms. "I earn it another way. Walk to the Gulfarium with me, and I'll tell you how."
The temptation divides me like a cleaver. I'm one part hissy fit and one part swoon. I have a right to be mad, to press charges, to cut Rachel's hair while she's sleeping. But do I really want to risk the chance that she keeps a gun under her pillow? Do I want to miss the opportunity to scrunch my toes in the sand and listen to Galen's rich voice tell me how a fish came to be wealthy ~ Anna Banks

We show greatness, not by being at one extreme, but by touching both at once and occupying all the space in between. ~ Blaise Pascal

So if we're all quarks and electrons ... " he begins.
What?"
We could make love and it would be nothing more than quarks and electrons rubbing together."
Better than that," I say. "Nothing really 'rubs together' in the microscopic world. Matter never really touches other matter, so we could make love without any of our atoms touching at all. Remember that electrons sit on the outside of atoms, repelling other electrons. So we could make love and actually repel each other at the same time. ~ Scarlett Thomas

Hey, Buddy," he said to me. I got a close-up view of his strange, light blue eyes and golden skin as he threw his arms around me and kept walking right over me. I had to throw my arms around him, too, to keep from thudding flat on my back on the dock.
"Oh, pardon me!" he said, pulling me out from under him and setting me on my feet again. "I didn't even see you there."
"That's quite all right," I managed in the same fake-formal tone. His warm hands still held my waist. This was the first time a boy had ever touched my bare tummy. My happy skin sent shocked messages to my brain that went something like, He's touching me! Are you getting this? He's touching me! Eeeeeeee! My brain got it, all right, and put the rest of my body on high alert. My heart thumped painfully, just like in my dream.
But as I looked into his eyes, I saw he was already gone, glancing up the stairs to the marina. If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd been flirting with me. I knew better. He treated all girls this way.
He slid out of my grasp. He may have had to shake one hand violently to extricate it from my friendly vise-like grip. "See you later, Junior," he threw over his shoulder at me as he climbed the steps to the marina. ~ Jennifer Echols

Galen slides into his desk, unsettled by the way the sturdy blond boy talking to Emma casually rests his arm on the back of her seat.
"Good morning," Galen says, leaning over to wrap his arms around her, nearly pulling her from the chair. He even rests his cheek against hers for good measure. "Good morning...er, Mark, isn't it?" he says, careful to keep his voice pleasant. Still, he glances meaningfully at the masculine arm still lining the back of Emma's seat, almost touching her.
To his credit-and safety-Mark eases the offending limb back to his own desk, offering Emma a lazy smile full of strikingly white teeth. "You and Forza, huh? Did you clear that with his groupies?"
She laughs and gently pries Galen's arms off her. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the eruption of pink spreading like spilled paint over her face. She's not used to dating him yet. Until about ten minutes ago, he wasn't used to it either. Now though, with the way Mark eyes her like a tasty shellfish, playing the role of Emma's boyfriend feels all too natural.
The bell rings, saving Emma from a reply and saving Mark thousands of dollars in hospital bills. Emma shoots Galen a withering look, which he deflects with that he hopes is an enchanting grin. He measures his success by the way her blush deepens but stops short when he notices the dark circles under her eyes.
She didn't sleep last night. Not that he thought she would. She'd been quiet on the flight home from Destin two n ~ Anna Banks

Maybe physical intimacy isn't always about touching. Maybe it's also about being able to sit next to someone at dinner and not care if he takes something off your plate or reaches across you for the salt. Maybe it's about being able to sprawl out on the floor and read a book in the same room with someone who's grading papers and muttering about 'incompetent boobs who couldn't write a good paper if their lives depended on it.' Maybe it's about sharing the same space with another person and not going fucking crazy because you can't get away from them.

That's it, I guess: true intimacy is really just the run of the mill, day to day stuff that happens without thinking - thousands of simple, meaningless, comfortable ways you can be close to someone, never dreaming how shitty you'll feel when you wake up one morning with all of it gone. ~ Bart Yates

She remembers in 1940 when the city's population had been called upon to donate all the metal objects they could spare. Married women were asked for their wedding rings. Florence's piazzas were thus heaped with enormous piles of tarnished rusting metal objects. There was something almost touching about the slapdash poverty of the contribution. Candelabras, door handles, pipes, bits of engines, tools. It later occurred to her that these bits of waste metal would in all probability be melted down and fashioned into weapons, ammunition maybe. That the candelabra she was looking at might end up lodged in someone's chest in the form of a bullet, someone who would never know that a household ornament of mysterious provenance would cause his death. ~ Glenn Haybittle

You kids haven't been touching these, have you?" asked Dr. Snood.
"No, we--" Henry began.
"Make sure you don't," said Dr. Snood in a stern voice. "And make sure the lid on that coffin stays closed."
"Of course--" said Jesse. Before she could say any more, he walked out.
The Aldens stood still for a moment, stunned by Dr. Snood's harsh behavior.
At last Jessie said, "I don't know which was stranger: the way he was looking at those artifacts or the way he just spoke to us."

The Mystery of the Mummy's Curse ~ Gertrude Chandler Warner

Don't do that!" she exclaimed, shivering at the realization that it had been his fingers touching her.
He gave her his lazy, slightly twisted smile and brushed a few pieces of unruly black hair out of his face.
"Are you asking me or ordering me?"
"Shut up." She glanced around, both to avoid his eyes and make sure no one saw them together.
"What's the matter? Worried about what your slaves'll think if they see you talking to me?"
"They're my friends," she retorted.
"Oh.Right. Of course they are. I mean, from what I saw, Camille would probably do anything for you, right? Friends till the end." He crossed his arms over his chest, and in spite of her anger, she couldn't help but notice how the silvery gray of his shirt set off his black hair and blue eyes.
(Lissa&Christian) ~ Richelle Mead

Ronan pointed at the cart. "Get in there."
"What?"
He just continued pointing.
Adam said, "Give me a break. This is a public parking lot."
"Don't make this ugly, Parrish."
As an old lady headed past them, Adam sighed and climbed into the basket of the shopping cart. He drew his knees up so that he would fit. He was full of the knowledge that this was probably going to end with scabs.
Ronan gripped the handle with the skittish concentration of a motorcycle racer and eyed the line between them and the BMW parked on the far side of the lot. "What do you think the grade is on this parking lot?"
"C plus, maybe a B. Oh. I don't know. Ten degrees?" Adam held the sides of the cart and then thought better of it. He held himself instead.
With a savage smile, Ronan shoved the cart off the curb and belted towards the BMW. As they picked up speed, Ronan called out a joyful and awful swear and then jumped on to the back of the cart himself. As they hurtled towards the BMW, Adam realised that Ronan, as usual, had no intention of stopping before something bad happened. He cupped a hand over his nose just as they glanced off the side of the BMW. The unseated cart wobbled once, twice, and then tipped catastrophically on to its side. It kept skidding, the boys skidding along with it.
The three of them came to a stop.
"Oh, God," Adam said, touching the road burn on his elbow. It wasn't that bad, really. "God, God. I can feel my teeth."
~ Maggie Stiefvater

What are you waiting for?" shanna asked. "He's dying! Do it!"
Conner looked at Angus. "Ye do it. It was yer idea."
"Nay? Ye were the first to suggest it. Ye do it."
"I'm no' touching him." Conner said.
He nudged Phineas "Ye do it."
"I don't even know how!" Phineas poked at Robby. "You do it."
"Why me?" Robby turned to Angus. "Ye're the expert. Ye do it."
Angus grimaced. "I'm no' doing it. I hate the bugger."
"Stop it!" Shanna screamed "You- Forget it! I'll do it myself."
"Shanna you don't know how," Roman said.
"Gods blood. I guess I have to do it."
"You guess?" Shanna cried "Are you going to let him die?"
"He threatens to kill me every time he sees me. ~ Kerrelyn Sparks

You...you always made everything sound like it's not a big deal. You're doing that now."
His lips continued to curve on the right and the dimple appeared. Then he sighed and scooted forward, spreading his legs. His hands suddenly landed on my hips, and I almost dropped the cotton ball at the unexpected contact. My breath caught as he lowered me so I was sitting on the edge of the coffee table and he kept moving forward, the inside of his legs sliding against the outside of mine. The rough material of his jeans touching my bare skin sent a raw, drenching rush of sensation through my veins.
"That better?" he asked, peering at me through lowered lashes.
I blinked, having no idea what he was talking about, and then I realized that seated like this, it was easier to reach him. His hands dropped from my hips to rest on his thighs, and they were oh so close to mine. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

Nick ran smack into me.
"Ooof!" he hollered, grabbing me around the waist to keep me from falling down the rest of the staircase.
That's when I realized Mom thought Nick and I were going on a date together.
Quickly Nick let me go.He looked huge, frowning down at me from the step above. "Why are you stopping in the middle of the stairs?"
"Why are you tailgating me?"
He put his hand behind me, at butt level, without touching me. "What is that?" he demanded.
I bent a little and slapped my butt, "Something the heir to a meat fortune should know all about. USDA grade-A prime,baby." I straightened. "Just kidding. Really, it's my butt."
He put his hands on his hips, and from below I noticed his strong superhero chin again.He grumbled, "Why do you have 'boy toy' written across your butt?"
"Oh!" I put my hand over the words, realizing that I probably should have been embarrassed about this sooner. "These are my brother's jeans. He wrote it to annoy me. Or to get me a date. ~ Jennifer Echols

Those who come close to people in need do so first of all in a generous desire to help them and bring them relief; they often feel like saviours and put themselves on a pedestal. But once in contact with them, once touching them, establishing a loving and trusting relationship with them, the mystery unveils itself. At the heart of the insecurity of people in distress there is a presence of Jesus. And so they may discover the sacrament of the poor and enter the mystery of compassion.

People who are poor seem to break down the barriers of powerfulness, of wealth, of ability and of pride; they pierce the armour the human heart builds to protect itself; they reveal Jesus Christ. They reveal to those who have come to 'help' them their own poverty and vulnerability. These people also show their 'helpers' their capacity for love, the forces of love in their hearts. A poor person has a mysterious power: in his weakness he is able to open hardened hearts and reveal the sources of living water within them. It is the tiny hand of the fearless child which can slip through the bars of the prison of egoism. He is the one who can open the lock and set free. And God hides himself in the child. ~ Jean Vanier

All business in Iran is like first time sex: first there are the promises, then a little foreplay, followed by more promises and perhaps a little petting...at that stage things get complicated - you're not sure who's the boy and who's the girl, but what you do know is that if you continue, you might get fucked...so you decide to proceed cautiously, touching here and touching there, showering the other party with compliments, and whispering an undying commitment, and then maybe, just maybe, it will all end in coitus, but it is rarely as satisfying for one party as it is for the other. ~ Hooman Majd

It's hard to see. There are only the shadows of things. She feels along the fridge to the wall and the phone, touching first her uncle's keys, then her dead aunt's, a woman Devon can feel judging her from the grave even though she's only borrowing something, not stealing it. She has never stolen anything in her life, and she never will. She steps into the cool, still air of the closed garage and she sees Sick's face. The way he looked at her as she let him in, the only one. His hair hung down and his lips were parted and as he moved inside her his eyes seemed to shine with a sweet sadness, the kind that only comes when you know something good can never, ever last. But you keep going anyway. All you can do is keep going and never quit. ~ Andre Dubus III

If life is a movie most people would consider themselves the star of their own feature. Guys might imagine they're living some action adventure epic. Chicks maybe are in a rose-colored fantasy romance. And homosexuals are living la vida loca in a fabulous musical. Still others may take the indie approach and think of themselves as an anti-hero in a coming of age flick. Or a retro badass in an exploitation B movie. Or the cable man in a very steamy adult picture. Some people's lives are experimental student art films that don't make any sense. Some are screwball comedies. Others resemble a documentary, all serious and educational. A few lives achieve blockbuster status and are hailed as a tribute to the human spirit. Some gain a small following and enjoy cult status. And some never got off the ground due to insufficient funding. I don't know what my life is but I do know that I'm constantly squabbling with the director over creative control, throwing prima donna tantrums and pouting in my personal trailor when things don't go my way.

Much of our lives is spent on marketing. Make-up, exercise, dieting, clothes, hair, money, charm, attitude, the strut, the pose, the Blue Steel look. We're like walking billboards advertising ourselves. A sneak peek of upcoming attractions. Meanwhile our actual production is in disarray--we're over budget, doing poorly at private test screenings and focus groups, creatively stagnant, morale low. So we're endlessly tinkering, touching u ~ Tatsuya Ishida

That's why all those records from high school sound so good. It's not that the songs were better - it's that we were listening to them with our friends, drunk for the first time on liqueurs, touching sweaty palms, staring for hours at a poster on the wall, not grossed out by carpet or dirt or crumpled, oily bedsheets. These songs and albums were the best ones because of how huge adolescence felt then, and how nostalgia recasts it now. ~ Carrie Brownstein

His head went back, on the stroke up, again. When he finally looked back at her hands still on him, and his cock all neatly wrapped, his words came out gravelly, and wondering.
"What a strange notion."
"You won't miss too much of the sensation. It's really not that bad."
His mouth quirked up at the corner.
"Why would I miss any sensation? The whole of our bodies are going to be touching. Are you going to encase the rest of me in a stocking?"
Laughter, again. It felt good, so good.
"I guess not - now get down here and fuck me. ~ Charlotte Stein

The dwarf's eyes widened - at least I think they widened, since they became much more visible in his hairy face - and he froze.
"Would you prefer to retrieve the missive yourself, M'lady Wisp?" he asked.
"I'd rather not," I said. No way was I touching some strange dude's vest, no matter how impressive his beard. ~ E.J. Stevens

We all long for heaven where God is, but we have it our power to be in heaven with him right now-to be happy with him at this very moment. But this means being: Loving as he loves, helping as he helps, giving as he gives, serving as he serves, rescuing as he rescues, being with him all 24 hours of the day, touching him in his distressing disguise. ~ Mother Teresa

The difference between me and a butterfly is that the butterfly looks at a flower with no purpose in mind but to sip nectar. The flower feeds its body while for me the colours and shapes and scents of flowers feed my heart. But how arrogant of me to assume that the butterfly does not feel its miniscule heart also soar for no reason other than touching and being touched by beauty! ~ Densey Clyne

Heaven's Door"

I'd search the world for Heaven's Door,

Over mountains and valleys, each sandy shore.

I'd find the stairway, soaring through clouds,

I'd climb each step, without making a sound.

I'd arrive at the door of glimmering gold,

I'd slip through unnoticed, not stirring a soul.

I'd gasp at its beauty, at its rivers and trees,

I'd stray from the paths, I'd hide among leaves.

I'd tiptoe unseen, under sun and sky blue,

I'd search every corner until I found you.

I'd capture a tear, catch a glimpse of your hair,

As you danced and you twirled, without any care.

You'd smile and you'd laugh, like a bird you'd be free,

I'd try not to cry, you're there without me.

I'd stay my hand from touching your face,

From calling your name, to feel your embrace.

You'd open your mouth and your voice would be pure,

I'd treasure the sound, no more pain you'd endure.

I'd stay 'til the sunset, when I'd have to leave,

A pain in my heart, my spirit in grief.

I'd blow you a kiss, let it drift to the sky,

I'd whisper 'I love you' and bid you goodbye.

I'd pass through the door, I'd descend out of view,

Knowing that one day, some day, I'd again be with you.

- Elsie ~ Tillie Cole