Little Fingers Quotes

“That evening I sat across from Jeremy Bulloch and Jacob at the dinner table. I watched as Jeremy, who seemed to speak Jacob's silent language fluently, drummed his fingers up and down on the edge of the table, as if playing a piano. A delighted Jacob mimicked the actor's actions. My throat filled with tears. I met Ben's eyes across the table, where he sat straight with pride next to his son. He was enjoying the show just as much as I was. Jacob was in his element, interacting with an actor from his favorite movie. The other men at the table were part of the set: Mike, the owner of the comic book store, who had made the entire thing possible, and the Mandalorin Mercs, new friends of the little boy who had
become one of their own, a comrade in distress.”

— Mary Potter Kenyon

“Rolling onto his side, Jamie reached out and touched Evan's chest, two fingertips only tracing the curve of his pectoral and threading through the dark, curly hair. Something about that hairiness fascinated him, masculine yet soft. An unaccountable shyness wrapped around him, a weight upon his shoulders. His fingers trembled a little. "You'll, um, tell me if I do it wrong?"
Evan laughed softly, "Angel, there is no wrong. Go ahead and explore. If I don't like something, I'll tell you, 'kay?”

— Finn Marlowe

“Eating be eating, b'ain't it, Birdie?'
'Nay, Uncle Bear: In Caermelor, at the Royal Court, they be so-oh, so much more advanced than anywhere else. 'Tis not done to wipe your fingers on your hair or the tablecloth, or belch, or speak with your mouth full of food, or scratch, or pick your teeth at table. Ye have to use little forks to pick up the food. Ye not allowed to pour wine for your betters or for yourself, but to wait for them to deign to pour it for ye, if they be feeling generous. And the carving of the meats must be done a certain way, and as for the toasts-it would take ye a whole day just to learn the complications.
'Takes the fun out of eating,' observed Sianadh.”

— Cecilia Dart-Thornton

“To believe, perhaps you had to cease looking for explanations and instead hold the little thing in your hands as long as your were able before it slipped like water between your fingers.”

— Eowyn Ivey

“She could not fathom the hexagonal miracle of snowflakes formed from clouds, crystallized fern and feather that tumble down to light on a coat sleeve, white stars melting even as they strike. How did such force and beauty come to be in something so small and fleeting and unknowable? You did not have to understand miracles to believe in them, and in fact Mabel had come to suspect the opposite. To believe, perhaps you had to cease looking for explanations and instead hold the little thing in your hands as long as you were able before it slipped like water between your fingers. (kindle location 2950)”

— Eowyn Ivey

“We walk up the sandy slope toward the dining terrace. I see Troy sitting at a table with some people I know. I look at Scottie to see if she sees him, and she is giving him the middle finger. The dining terrace gasps, but I realize it's because of the sunset and the green flash. We missed it. The flash flashed. The sun is gone, and the sky is pink. I reach to grab the offending hand, but instead, I correct her gesture.
"Here, Scottie. Don't let that finger stand by itself like that. Bring up the other fingers just a little bit. There you go. That's the cool way to do it."
Troy stares at us and smiles a bit. He's completely confused.
"All right, that's enough." I suddenly feel sorry for Troy. He must feel awful.”

— Kaui Hart Hemmings

“So the fact tht anyone would ever suggest that Arab women are dominated and demeaned is really quite ludicrous. In this part of the world, She's just Not That Into Him. We're the ones who make a pantomime of the wedding, and play at happily ever after ... The men might think they have the upper hand, they may believe they've nabbed themselves a prime piece of arm candy, but we've got his 'potential as a provider' wrapped around our little fingers. Oh yes, we're the smart ones.”

— Amy Mowafi

“Asking where memory is "located" in the brain is like asking where running is located in the body. There are certainly parts of the body that are more important (the legs) or less important (the little fingers) in performing the task of running but, in the end, it is an activity that requires complex coordination among a great many body parts and muscle groups. To extend the analogy, looking for differences between memory systems is like looking for differences between running and walking. There certainly are many differences, but the main difference is that running requires more coordination among the different body parts and can be disrupted by small things (such as a corn on the toe) that may not interfere with walking at all. Are we to conclude, then, that running is located in the corn on your toe?”

— Ian Neath

“Marcie looked at the ugly thing and took a minute to rearrange her mental picture of the family gathered around the wood-burning stove, replacing the quaint, charming piece in her imagination with this big, brown metal beast, which would heat their home but not burn little fingers. It would be like a large, beloved dog of some hideous mixed breed, that fit right into their family and served its purpose so well that no one noticed or cared what it looked like.”

— Karen Jones Gowen

“Charlee has my arm. She has my arm-my arm that's rigid from pleasure, from her touch-in her little fingers. She holds my other one, too and she's right there, that sweet candy perfume stripping the rest of the strength from my body, and it escapes in a soft, breathy sigh.”

— Rebecca Berto

“Still, I wonder if more women artists, musicians and writers aren't household names because we don't have enough faith in our own pursuits to give ourselves the time we desperately need to be transformed by a creative vision. Maybe that glass ceiling isn't really made of glass at all, but of sticky little fingers, dishes piled in the sink, and mortgages that demand two incomes.”

— Holly Robinson

“Funny thing how it is. If a man owns a little property, that property is him, it's part of him, and it's like him. If he owns property only so he can walk on it and handle it and be sad when it isn't doing well, and feel fine when the rain falls on it, that property is him, and some way he's bigger because he owns it. Even if he isn't successful he's big with his property. That is so.'
'But let a man get property he doesn't see, or can't take time to get his fingers in, or can't be there to walk on it - why, then the property is the man. He can't do what he wants, he can't think what he wants. The property is the man, stronger than he is. And he is small, not big. Only his possessions are big - and he's the servant of his property. That is so, too.”

— John Steinbeck

“When the fair gold morning of April stirred Mary Hawley awake, she turned over to her husband and saw him, little fingers pulling a frog mouth at her.”

— John Steinbeck

“Was the hope that pulled at her heart with dirty little fingers.”

— Rainbow Rowell

“No! No!" the star crackled desperately. "That's wrong! I'm supposed to die!" "But I could save you if you'd let me catch you," Michael told it gently. "No!" cried the star. "I'd rather die!" It dived away from Michael's fingers. Michael plunged for it, but it was too quick for him. It swooped for the nearest marsh pool, and the black water leaped into a blaze of whiteness for just an instant. Then there was a small, dying sizzle. When Sophie hobbled over, Michael was standing watching the last light fade out of a little round lump under the dark water. "That was sad," Sophie said.”

— Diana Wynne Jones

“A loud song with a thumping beat rang from Jay's pocket. He gave me a goofy grin and began to bop his head back and forth to the rhythm. Oh, no-not the crazy booty dance.
"Please don't," I begged.
Jay broke into his funky ringtone dance, shoulders bouncing and hips moving from side to side. People around us stepped away, surprised, then began to laugh and cheer him on. I pressed my fingers against my lips to hide an embarrassed smile. Just as the ringtone was about to end, he gave a little bow, straightened up, and answered the call.”

— Wendy Higgins

“Every twenty years or so the earth renews itself in young maidens. You know what I mean? Her cheeks had the perfect form that belongs to the young; her hair was kinky gold. Her teeth were white and posted on every approach. She was all sweet corn and milk. Blessings on her hips. Blessings on her thighs. Blessings on her soft little fingers which were somewhat covered by the cuffs of her uniform. Blessings on that rough gold. A wonderful little thing; her attitude was that of a pal or playmate, as is common with Midwestern young women”

— Saul Bellow

“What bedrooms did you give to our guests?"
"The ones all the way ... way ... way on the other side of the manse."
He laughed at that, hugging her tightly for giving him that ability to indulge in humor once more.
"Then I'd say the bedroom with the old armoire you like should suffice."
"Yes, master," she teased, flicking her hand and sending them there. "Oops, one sec." She winked at him and snapped her fingers, the bottle of lotion suddenly in her hand.
"Show-off. You know, you are going to have to tell me how you do that."
"Well, first you pump this little thing on top, then the lotion-"
Legna yelped when he slapped his hand hard on her bottom, the blanket doing little to shield her from the sting of it.
"Gideon! Do not ever do that again!" she scolded.
"Not even if you beg me to?" he countered lecherously.
Legna laughed, unable to help herself.
"I hate you!"
"No, you do not," he insisted. "How many times do I have to tell you that?”

— Jacquelyn Frank

“Think about what it is you're after."
"Understanding," she said slowly.
"Good," Bill said. "What else?"
A nervous energy was coursing through her, as if she was on the brink of something important. "I want to find out why Daniel and I were cursed. And I want to break that curse.I want to stop love from killing me so that we can finally be together-for real."
"Whoa,whoa,whoa." Bill started waving his hands like a man stranded on the side of a dark road. "Let's not get crazy. This is a very long-standing damnation you're up againat here. You and Daniel,it's like ... I don't know, you can't just snap your pretty little fingers and break out of that. You gotta start out small.”

— Lauren Kate

“He tipped his head back, closing his eyes. My back stiffened. I was insulted. Offended. I was a badass fighter, and he was so not scared of me that he was about to take a freaking nap! "You know, little bird," he said slowly, his fingers tapping along the arm of the black chair. "I plan to keep you afterward. Your mouth amuses me. Perhaps I will have a pretty cage fashioned to hold my pretty red-headed bird.”

— Jennifer L. Armentrout

“There is little joy in those first moments of recognition- for the reality is that most encounters of such depth, most first glances of love come to nothing. And while the sincerity of that rare moment when your heart is bursting should be the signal to fling yourself on the ground in the path of this stranger, it's the depth of such sincerity that paralyses you, holds you back from the silence of phrases like "hello" and "good morning."
And as they pass, granting only single, torturous details like fingers upon the handle of an umbrella, or a hair pin bearing the weight of a twist, or a wool collar beaded with pearls of rain- there is only one thing you could ever say that would be true, that would make them stop walking and turn to face you.
But such a thing is unsayable.”

— Simon Van Booy

“She lifted her hand, slowly folded down her index, ring, and little fingers, then cheerfully flipped him the bird. Someone behind him laughed and he whirled around and bellowed out a curse. Maybe it had meant the same general thing in the Middle Ages. Or maybe it had been the look on her face. Whatever the case, she felt rather vindicated. She lowered her hand and smiled up at Richard, whose expression had darkened even more. His eyebrows had become a single, dark slash across his forehead. His scar was white. Even if she hadn't seen the blazing fury in his eyes, she would have known by his scar that he was livid.”

— Lynn Kurland

“When she had gone, Thorne let out a low whistle. "I know, I know. She seems a little"-crossing his eyes, he swirled both fingers around his ears-"but it's really part of her charm, once you get to know her.”

— Marissa Meyer

“Life is just a flick of the fingers. Let's face it. And any little bit - you can expand it or enrich it, I think you want to push that and do it.”

— Peter Beard

“Visualization - it's been huge for me. Your mind doesn't know the difference between imagination and reality. You can't always practice perfectly - my fingers will play a little bit out of tune, or my dance moves might not be as sharp - but in my mind, I can practice perfectly.”

— Lindsey Stirling

“You're out of excuses, Ms. Weaver. You were the one who started this. You're the one who rode my fucking finger as if you'd never come before." His voice dropped to a dark whisper. "So shut up, wrap those little fingers around my cock and stroke me, otherwise I swear to God I'll throw you on your hands and knees and fuck your tight little cunt right here.”

— Pepper Winters

“Nature had come into her own again and, little by little, in her stealthy, insidious way had encroached upon the drive with long, tenacious fingers.”

— Daphne Du Maurier

“What anguish! Cincinnatus, what anguish! What stone anguish, Cincinnatus-the merciless bong of the clock, and the obese spider, and the yellow walls, and the roughness of the black wool blanket. The skim on the chocolate. Pluck it with two fingers at the very center and snatch it whole from the surface, no longer a flat covering, but a wrinkled brown little skirt. The liquid is tepid underneath, sweetish and stagnant. Three slices of toast with tortoise shell burns. A round pat of butter embossed with the monogram of the director. What anguish, Cincinnatus, how many crumbs in the bed!”

— Vladimir Nabokov

“The desert seems to be a brown wasteland of dry, prickly scrub whose only purpose is to serve as a setting for the majestic saguaros. Then, little by little, the plants of the desert begin to identify themselves: the porcupiny yucca, the beaver tail and prickly pear and barrel cacti, buckhorn and staghorn and devil's fingers, the tall, sky-reaching tendrils of the ocotillo.”

— Jerry Spinelli

“You have family, only a brother you clearly don't like to speak about. Fine. That's all right." She ran her fingers through her hair. "But don't ever say dreams are a waste. It's a miracle I can still speak of dreams and futures after all I've been through. There's love in this world, Thristan, love that can encompass the heart abiding in humans' mortal, fragile bodies. And there are stupid little humans like me, dreamers, who believe one day they'll find it.”

— Madison Thorne Grey

“The jam had filled the courtyard and foyer and pushed the water out of the swimming pool. Where it touched the walls, little tendrils snaked their way upwards like searching fingers. There was an overpowering stench of strawberries.”

— Yahtzee Croshaw

“Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. "Little bird," he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps.
When she crawled out of bed, long moments later, she was alone. She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire. The sky outside was darker by then, with only a few pale green ghosts dancing against the stars. A chill wind was blowing, banging the shutters. Sansa was cold. She shook out the torn cloak and huddled beneath it on the floor, shivering.”

— George R.R. Martin

“He's going to die, this is going to hurt
But she touched his neck, right where his hair was cut evenly above the collar of his shirt. He was very still. His skin was hot, and she could very, very faintly feel his pulse beneath her thumb. It wasn't like when she was with Adam. She didn't have to guess what to do with her hands. They knew. This was what it should have felt like with Adam. Less like playacting and more like a foregone conclusion.
He closed his eyes and leaned, just a little, so that her palm was flat on his neck, fingers sprawled from his ear to his shoulder.”

— Maggie Stiefvater

“Tell Penny how groovy it was of her to set up this little get-together, oh, and hey-can I be frank for a minute?" "Of course," said Agents Flatweed and Borderline. Snapping his fingers, Doc sang himself out the door with four bars of "Fly Me to the Moon,”

— Thomas Pynchon

“Come here, he said. Rebeca obeyed. She stopped beside the hammock in an icy sweat, feeling knots forming in her intestines, while Jose Arcadio stroked her ankle with the tips of his fingers, then her calves, then her thighs, murmuring: Oh, little sister, little sister. She had to make a supernatural effort not to die when a startlingly regulated cyclonic power lifted her up by the waist and despoiled her of her intimacy with 3 slashes of its claws and quartered her like a little bird. She managed to thank God for having been born before she lost herself in the inconcievable pleasure of that unbearable pain ...”

— Gabriel Jose Garcia Marquez

“If I may ride with you, Citizen Evremonde, will you let me hold your hand? I am not afraid, but I am little and weak, and it will give me more courage." As the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sudden doubt in them, and then astonishment. He pressed the work-worn, hunger-worn young fingers, and touched his lips.
"Are you dying for him?" she whispered.
"And his wife and child. Hush! Yes."
"Oh, you will let me hold your brave hand, stranger?"
"Hush! Yes, my poor sister; to the last.”

— Charles Dickens

“See, I believe that it is not true that different races and nations are alike. I'm profoundly convinced that that's a total lie. I think people are different. Sardinians, for example, have stubby little fingers. Bosnians have short necks.”

— Orson Welles

“You want to stab me again, don't you?"
He didn't look at all ashamed. "Think of it as testing the limits of your new abilities."
I groaned. "I've created a monster."
"I don't think someone who recently crawled from the grave should be throwing around labels like 'monster,'" he said, making sarcastic little air-quotes fingers.
"It wasn't a grave," I sniffed. "It was a comfy four-poster.”

— Molly Harper

“She was like that, excited and delighted by little things, crossing her fingers before any remotely unpredictable event, like tasting a new flavor of ice cream, or dropping a letter in a mailbox. It was a quality he did not understand. It made him feel stupid, as if the world contained hidden wonders he could not anticipate, or see. He looked at her face, which, it occurred to him, had not grown out of its girlhood, the eyes untroubled, the pleasing features unfirm, as if they still had to settle into some sort of permanent expression. Nicknamed after a nursery rhyme, she had yet to shed a childhood endearment.”

— Jhumpa Lahiri

“I had less control over my thoughts than I'd have liked. The little ring hung around my neck, under my gown, where nobody could see it. When I was alone, I took it out sometimes, wondering how he had judged the size, with nothing but my swollen, knotted fingers to go by. Wondering if my hands would ever be as they once were, small, white, and fine. By the time that happened, if it ever did, I would be long gone from here. I would have left behind both husband and wedding ring. It mattered little whether the size were right or no. Yet, when I thought this, I found my hand closing around the ring as if I did not want to let it go. It's mine, something inside me would say.”

— Juliet Marillier

“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?”

— Jonathan Safran Foer

“This is the truth: we all desire to conquer the comely one, because it affirms our own worth. Speaking for the men of the world, we want to own the beauty of the woman we're fucking. We want to grasp that beauty, tightly in our greedy little fingers, to well and truly possess it, to make it ours. We want to do this as the woman shines her way through an orgasm. That's perfection. And while I can't speak for women, I imagine that they-whether they admit it or not-want the same thing: to possess the man, to own his rough handsomeness, if only for a few seconds.”

— Andrew Davidson

“You must learn to ignore what people say," Sebastian murmured, coming to her. Standing behind her, he rested his fingers lightly on her shoulders, causing her to start a little. "You'll be much happier that way." Suddenly his voice was tipped with amusement. "I've learned that while gossip about others is often true, it's never true when it is about oneself.”

— Lisa Kleypas

“Bite me, Goth princess," Shane called from the back. "Not literally or anything."
"Maybe you should say that to Michael."
"Not funny, Eve," Michael said.
Eve raised her eyebrows and held her fingers up, measuring off about an inch. "Little bit," she said.”

— Rachel Caine

“A lot of blues guitarists play with only three fingers, and they can't figure out certain runs that require the use of their little fingers. Classical training is good for that.”

— Ritchie Blackmore

“How dare you refer to my beautiful children as 'synthetic'. And shame on you for wagging your judgemental little fingers at IVF - a miracle that has allowed legions of loving people, both straight and gay, to fulfill their dream of having children, your archaic thinking is out of step with the times, just like your fashions. I shall never wear Dolce and Gabbana ever again.”

— Elton John

“Certain peer pressures encourage little fingers to learn how to hold a football instead of a crayon. I confess to having yielded to these pressures.”

— Chris Van Allsburg

“I get my fingers in all our pies. Before you know it, your little fingers including all your toes are in all the pies.”

— Imelda Marcos

“I hate turkeys. If you go to the grocery store, you start to get mad at turkeys. You see turkey ham, turkey bologna, turkey pastrami. Somebody just needs to tell the turkeys, "Man, just be yourselves!" I already like you, little fella. I used to draw you. If you had a couple of fingers missing, you would draw a really messed-up turkey. That turkey was in an accident!”

— Mitch Hedberg

“The fields are snowbound no longer;
There are little blue lakes and flags of tenderest green.
The snow has been caught up into the sky-
So many white clouds-and the blue of the sky is cold.
Now the sun walks in the forest,
He touches the bows and stems with his golden fingers;
They shiver, and wake from slumber.
Over the barren branches he shakes his yellow curls.
Yet is the forest full of the sound of tears ...
A wind dances over the fields.
Shrill and clear the sound of her waking laughter,
Yet the little blue lakes tremble
And the flags of tenderest green bend and quiver.”

— Katherine Mansfield