touching

When authors write from personal experiences,straight from the heart,it touches the readers. Their work speaks out to all who read it,and most of the time,people can relate to what was written. I have always believed that books can change people's lives. Especially ones where the author is sincere,and writes deep,thoughtful,touching things from their hearts."-Nina Jean Slack

No matter what happens in the outside world, as long as you have faith in yourself, no darkness can touch you!

The comedy in our lives was those first few weeks we lived together in Paris: Our bodies desired one another, our souls opened for one another. We experienced all of the happiness and anguish of first love. Those first few weeks in Paris, we barely touched lips; yet the few times we did, it had the force of a collision of stars.

You are...beyond my imagination. It's a wonder you can be touched at all.

We fit the pieces of our life together in a pattern,but there is no image on the puzzlebox to guide us.

The heart that bleeds, knows true heartache.-Nina Jean Slack

There's a lot of beauty to be found in sadness and melancholia. One of the things that you find time and time again - not just with music, but with literature - is that things that appear to be quite depressing on the surface can ironically be very uplifting and touching to other people. When you hear something that really reminds you that you're not alone in feeling sad, depressed, melancholic, angry - I think that can actually be a very cathartic experience.

He smiled his shy smile at her as he went into the yard. Anne took the memory of it with her when she went to her room that night and sat for a long while at her open window, thinking of the past and dreaming of the future. Outside the Snow Queen was mistily white in the moonshine; the frogs were singing in the marsh beyond Orchard Slope. Anne always remembered the silvery, peaceful beauty and fragrant calm of that night. It was the last night before sorrow touched her life; and no life is ever quite the same again when once that cold, sanctifying touch has been laid upon it.

Yes, looking through the eyes of literature we may talk about the beauty of sadness! But in the eyes of truth, sadness is just saddening; there is no beauty there, only a touching desperation!

Be happy that after living so many lives, I finally found something to die for

Dads. Do you not realize that your child needs to feel your skin on his? Do you not realize the incredible and powerful bond that skin on skin contact with your daughter will give you? Do you not understand the permanent mental connections that are made when you stroke your son__ bare back or rub your daughter__ bare tummy while you tell bedtime stories? And if any idiot says anything about that being inappropriate, you__e gonna get kicked in the face, first by me, and then by every other good dad out there. Touching your child is your duty as a father.

Rain touching our hand becomes a little bit salty! Man touching wisdom becomes a little bit wiser! More touches take more from the touched!

You are so beautiful,_ he whispered, kissing her softly on the lips. __ can__ believe I got to have you._ __ou__e the only one who has,_ Carrie smiled, __nd I wouldn__ have had it any other way.

Before he could say my name, I closed the space between us. Quickly, my lips moved against his. The mental and emotional emptiness took over instantly, but physically, I was more alert than ever. Wesley__ surprise didn__ last as long as it had before, and his hands were on me in seconds. My fingers tangled in his soft hair, and Wesley__ tongue darted into my mouth and became a new weapon in our war.Once again, my body took complete control of everything. Nothing existed at the corners of my mind; no irritating thoughts harassed me. Even the sounds of Wesley__ stereo, which had been playing some piano rock I didn__ recognize, faded away as my sense of touch heightened.I was fully conscious of Wesley__ hand as it slid up my torso and moved to cup my breast. With an effort, I pushed him away from me. His eyes were wide as he leaned back. __lease don__ slap me again,_ he said.__hut up.__ could have stopped there. I could have stood up and left the room. I could have let that kiss be the end of it. But I didn__. The mind-numbing sensation I got from kissing him was so euphoric-such a high-that I couldn__ stand to give it up that fast. I might have hated Wesley Rush, but he held the key to my escape, and at that moment I wanted him_ I needed him.Without speaking, without hesitating, I pulled my T-shirt over my head and threw it onto Wesley__ bedroom floor. He didn__ have a chance to say anything before I put my hands on his shoulders and shoved him onto his back. A second later, I was straddling him and we were kissing again. His fingers undid the clasp on my bra, and it joined my shirt on the floor.I didn__ care. I didn__ feel self-conscious or shy. I mean, he already knew I was the Duff, and it wasn__ like I had to impress him.I unbuttoned his shirt as he pulled the alligator clip from my hair and let the auburn waves fall around us. Casey had been right. Wesley had a great body. The skin pulled tight over his sculpted chest, and my hands drifted down his muscular arms with amazement.His lips moved to my neck, giving me a moment to breathe. I could only smell his cologne this close to him. As his mouth traveled down my shoulder, a thought pushed through the exhilaration. I wondered why he hadn__ shoved me-Duffy-away in disgust.Then again, I realized, Wesley wasn__ known for rejecting girls. And I was the one who should have been disgusted.But his mouth pressed into mine again, and that tiny, fleeting thought died. Acting on instinct, I pulled on Wesley__ lower lip with my teeth, and he moaned quietly. His hands moved over my ribs, sending chills up my spine. Bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss.Only once, as Wesley flipped me onto my back, did I seriously consider stopping. He looked down at me, and his skilled hand grasped the zipper on my jeans. My dormant brain stirred, and I asked myself if things had gone too far. I thought about pushing him away, ending it right where we were. But why would I stop now? What did I stand to lose? Yet what could I possibly gain? How would I feel about this in an hour_ or sooner?Before I could come up with any answers, Wesley had my jeans and underwear off. He pulled a condom from his pocket (okay, now that I__ thinking about it, who keeps condoms in their pockets? Wallet, yes, but pocket? Pretty presumptuous, don__ you think?), and then his pants were on the floor, too. All of a sudden, we were having sex, and my thoughts were muted again.

He liked to touch, she realized. In bed, he kept his arms around her or a hand on her like now. The way he played with her breasts, or just touched her, or ran his hands over her body, made her feel so...so beautiful, Desirable.

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

Sir always had a thing for calves. They were soft and smooth, like all skin on a woman. But the calf flesh was backed by muscle, so there was a firmness you wouldn't find at the hips, say, or in the small of the back. But it wasn't boney like the front of the leg. No, the calf was pretty much the closest thing to the perfection of breast tissue you could touch on a woman without getting your hand slapped away.

The last thing Scripture should do is make you blind in the world. Instead, you hear everything, see everything, and feel everything because everything just so happens to point right back to it.