Best 244 quotes in «touch quotes» category

They make friends, they laugh, they share They stay in touch, they care.

They run, they touch, they learn, they play, They listen, they work hard at growing all day.

they say we’re losing centimetres every year; as if we were a beach that’s losing ground with every salt advance the night is overcast but why not try, at least, to touch the things our orbits cannot hold, while there’s time while we can.

They were relaxing at the top of a waterfall, in a small, still pool where the mountain waters hit an upward slope of folded granite. It was sort of a rounded bathtub, carved out of the rock throughout the centuries by the rushing river, a river so hidden that it was without a name. Just below were the falls, about a 30-foot drop into another, much larger pool of clearest water that was gathered for a respite, a compromise in the river's relentless schedule downward, between split-level decks of flat rock. Further on, the river reanimated and released into a sharp ravine, pulling westward, down through the rugged mountains and faceless forest--the Black Hills National Forest--gaining force until it joined with the rush of the Castle River, near the old Custer Trail, and was swallowed into the Deerfield Reservoir to collect and prepare for the touch of man.

They were the prisoners hidden in different cages, and yet they saw each other every day. He named her fire and she named him the wind, the day they both touched and embraced each other they burnt down everything that stood in their way.

This is how you will remember that you are mine. Every painful touch, every aching hug, will remind you - that you are a slave - to me.

This is what it means to be loved... when someone wants to touch you, to be tender...

This pain is comfort. It is the solace of physicality, like a touch.

Throw away that umbrella And feel the rain touch your skin! Feel my words Touch your body and soul!

Time is a lie. Each second, when I am not with you, seems like an eternity and every moment when your breath touches my skin, which makes each bit of my soul crave for you feels the same too. Each hour when I am with you seems like a second and when I am inside your arms, even eternity feels the same too.

Touching a flower is touching life; touching the sun is touching life; touching the skin, touching the sand, all of this means touching life! No touch, no life!

Total knowledge is annihilation Of the desire to see, to touch, to feel The world sensed only through senses And immune to the knowledge without feeling.

Touching is a powerful act

Touch is the most basic, the most nonconceptual form of communication that we have. In touch there are no language barriers; anything that can walk, fly, creep, crawl, or swim already speaks it.

Touch of Ability with Action can never be lost in the journey of life.

touchKindness never use harsh words its touch warmth the needy person.

Without thinking, I step a little closer, reaching out slowly to slide a fingertip over the largest petal of the lily tattoo on her lower back. Instantly a vibration moves up my arm, and I swear the mark on my hand burns against my skin. I clench my fingers into a fist, but I don’t step away. “Did you feel that?” she asks. I shake my head. “I don’t know.” I feel so much, always so much. She takes my hand and brings it to her side again, resting it on the violets. I look at the purple flowers between my fingers and feel the heat of her skin, the way it slides beneath my palm, soft as silk. And that vibration moves through my arm again. Her breath quickens. I find myself moving closer as her blue eyes go wide with wonder. My heart stutters and my chest aches with some unknown need. “Are you doing this?” I ask. Is she making me want this? “No,” she breathes. The smell of her turns to spice, sharp and warm, and I know I’m sensing her now, even through the block in the house. We stand like that for an eternity, still as statues on the outside, but inside I’m running, running toward a place I’ve never been. I should be terrified. But all I feel is strength. Rightness. And then Kara moves, her hands skimming up my chest, testing the boundaries. Her palms slide to my shoulders, her fingers tracing the line of the muscles in my arms, down to my waist. She grips my shirt, stretching it a little, waiting for me to tell her to stop. But I watch her lift it, let her pull it up, raising my arms, and I even take the last of it off myself, dropping it to the floor. We breathe, staring at each other. The vibrations move between us. My left arm buzzes with them. I think she’s doing it. Whatever’s happening, it’s her. I reach up and brush my marked knuckles across her cheek, amazed at the feel of her, the way her eyes seem to see everything, the way she pulls me into her. I can’t seem to remember why I shouldn’t kiss her. And kiss her. And . . . I kiss her, taking her face in both hands, skimming my thumb over her jaw as she leans into the touch, reaching out to curl her fingers around the back of my neck. I have to remind myself to breathe. I need more of her. The emotions roll over me in a rush, a tangle of sensation and movement, heat and sugar and heady aromas. I grip her tighter. Her nails dig into my shoulders. My hands slide down her spine. The kiss deepens, goes on forever, until I can barely see sense. I explore her shape, the feel of her ribs, the textures and taste of her skin on my tongue as I kiss her neck, her shoulders, her chest. As I draw trembling gasps from her lips, she grips me so hard it hurts. Our bodies mesh. Our breath mingles in frenzied desperation. Nothing else exists except her. Her warmth. Her spice. Her.

True love is jealousy in disguise: A man cannot restrict his lover from going to the club because he hates her, he actually hates the men who would come around and touch her.

We touch people mostly without touching them: We touch them with our words, with our smile, with our eyes, with our courage, with our madness, with millions of different ways! What are we? We are contacting beings without contacting!

What sets Salvation apart from everything else in the world is the Biblical truth that Satan cannot touch your soul because he doesn't know your PIN.

When bodies talk, a hand brushing across a face declares love the tongue never speaks. When bodies talk, eyes make promises and lips keep them in the silent transfer of vows of the heart. When bodies talk, a steady stare and firm glance becomes a rod of correction. When bodies talk, they speak to us all in quiet whispers, heart-to-heart, and soul-to-soul, in soundless conversations.

Where can my lovers touch me when all of me hurts? Certainly not my body. Certainly not my heart.

With the touch of wisdom, comes the end of fears.

Would you like to sit?" Kellen asked her. "You'd better do it soon," Owen whispered close to her ear, "or I'm going to bend you over that table and break the club's no-penetration-in-the-lounge rule.

You are as ordinary as spring,' he murmured. 'As powerless as sunlight.' He ran his fingertips down her neck. 'And when I touch you, I burn,' he said, making her heart stop and a flare of wild panic light inside her. He was too close; he was getting to her.

You don’t need to be the tide to rise and fall, you don’t have to be a wave to touch the shore; just be a little sand-grain and feel them all

You have the touch of nature you know, where she touches everything that is dead and they spring back into life again. I realised that the day you touched me for the first time. I felt I was standing somewhere I had never been before and all of a sudden life started pouring over me like a rain and drenching me with it. I had never felt that alive before.

You must make love to him like his touch is your salvation.

You need a poetic touch from the outer space? Then you need the moonlight!

your hand touching mine. this is how galaxies collide.

Umbrella is comfort, rain is life! You must often leave comfort to touch the life!

Usłysz mnie, dostrzeż mnie, dotknij mnie, kochaj mnie, uwolnij mnie!

Use your senses to SEE yourself for who you truly are. SMELL the flowers and become one with nature. TASTE the goodness of God. HEAR the truth. TOUCH the hearts of others with kindness and honest deeds.

When a woman is romantically subdued, all she does at that moment is under the influence of her desires.

When the spirit of nature touches us, our hearts turn into a butterfly!

With the holy touch of art, human life has become less lonely and more esthetical!

With the right kind of touch, sour apples turn sweet again.

Women are like sparkling diamonds, if you let too many hands touch it, not only will it get dirty with too many smudges and finger prints, it will also lose its shine and lustre.

You cannot explain, with the limitations of language and inexperience, why your body can cause such a sudden, fumbling response in someone else, nor can you put into exact words what you feel about your body, explain the thrum it feels in proximity to another warm-skinned form. What you feel is a tangle of contradictions: power, pleasure, fear, shame, exultation, some strange wish to make noise. You cannot say how those things knit themselves together somewhere in the lower abdomen and pulse.

You jumped like a frog. You touched like a dog. You kissed like a bird.

all touch starting to sicken, as if the cells of my skin were individually nauseated

A bead of liquid appears at her hairline and slides down her face. When it hits her cheek, I can’t tell if the drop is from the beer or from her eyes. My hand moves, the need to touch her more powerful than thought. Before I know what I’m doing, I wipe away the wetness.

A Christian’s heart for God should be like a teakettle on a flaming stove burner—hot to touch, visibly steaming, and audible.

After some time my husband reached over to hold my hand, which reminded me that at least there was this, at least we still had hands that remembered how to love each other, two bone-and-flesh flaps that hadn't complicated their simple love by speaking or thinking or being disappointed or having memories. They just held and were held and that is all. Oh, to be a hand.

A good coach can be a caring parent, a wise teacher, an exemplary pastor, a passionate friend or a devoted mentor. Keep in touch with all of them especially at the time they are needed.

All credibility, all good conscience, all evidence of truth come only from the senses. -Friedrich Nietzsche

All I'd done for the past ten years was talk about it. I was sick of talking...sick of analyzing...sick of reliving it...sick of the screaming in my head that replayed over and over like a song stuck on repeat.

All of them with their own lives, untouched by mine. Or each other's.

And it showed on her, the uncertainty with which she reached out to touch him, the uncertainty of someone who doesn’t know how a simple reaching out will be received.

An addition that takes time to depart, and sometimes, never leaves at all. A smell, a touch, thoughts, moments, feelings, movements, words left unsaid, words barely spoken; they all have a distinct sense, distinct fragrances! .... A pungent of cinnamon, an aroma of a rose, a summer breeze, a sweet smile like a per-fume that lingers on and on... endlessly.