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.
Catalog
Quotes tagged ‘Touch’
There are two sensations of skin you will always remember in your lifetime; the first time you fall in love-and that person holds your hand-and the first time your child grasps your finger. In each of those times, you are sealed to the other for eternity.
I touched you and my life stopped.
I want him to touch me again. I want to feel his hands, as soft as clouds. But I’m afraid if he touches me, all seven billion billion billion atoms that make up my body will blow apart and scatter across the universe.
Every time his lips meet mine, my whole body begins a slow tingle that starts from within in my chest, and spreads like a wildfire.
I remember your thread thin arms I remember your hands and how easily it seemed to me they could rip me open.
And then there's the sickness I feel from looking at legs I can't touch, or at lips that don't smile at me. Or hips that don't reach for me. And hearts that don't beat for me.
I remember that feeling of skin. It's strange to remember touch more than thought. But my fingers still tingle with it.
Afterward she lies nestled against me, her hair tickling my face. I stroke her lightly, memorizing her body. I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin.
I felt that if he touched me, I'd die. and then the thought crawled into my brain that if he didn't touch me, I'd die.
your hand touching mine. this is how galaxies collide.
Something in the way she moves attracts me like no other lover.
She thoroughly taught him that one cannot take pleasure without giving pleasure, and that every gesture, every caress, every touch, every glance, every last bit of the body has its secret, which brings happiness to the person who knows how to wake it.
We are not people who touch each other carelessly; every point of contact between us feels important, a rush of energy and relief.
That’s what it feels like when you touch me. Like millions of tiny universes being born and then dying in the space between your finger and my skin.
He is such a beautiful man, but I do not tell him this. He would take it the wrong way. It is a strange thing in some men, this fear of their own beauty.
You hate yourself for it, but you crave the stranger’s unwanted touch because the fight left in you is a reminder that you haven’t been broken. You haven’t been broken.