Finger Pointers Quotes

Some people live their lives being perpetual victims and finger pointers. To anyone who points a finger at someone else and lays all the blame at their feet instead of taking responsibility for their own behavior, I would say, "I see that finger and you know where you can put it?

The Master made it his task to destroy systematically every doctrine, every belief, every concept of the divine, for these things, which were originally intended as pointers, were now being taken as descriptions. He loved to quote the Eastern saying "When the sage points to the moon, all that the idiot sees is the finger.

sempre. she asked. Cracking a smile, he brushed his pointer finger softly across her lips. “Always and forever.

I’ve been in a maximum security prison. I’ve been around the worst of the worst. I’ve had to sleep with one eye open, thinking my next breath could be my last.” “Why are you telling me all this?” He turned toward me and our eyes locked. He reached out and ran the back of his pointer finger along my cheek. “Because I want you to know that none of those motherfuckers ever scared me as much as you do.

We should RSVP," I say. "They're not the bigger people. Fuck that!" "Fuck that!" he agrees. "Fuck that!" I half shout. Mr. Dorner pounds on the wall. Miles presses a pointer finger to my lips. "Fuck that," he whispers. "Fuck that," I whisper back.

He holds up two fingers - his pointer and middle - places them under his eyes, and then points in front of us.

If Eve tempted Adam (the first finger-pointer), then God tempted her with his order, “Don’t,” the biggest temptation of all.

This is my friend Veronica,” I told him. “And this is Kaidan.” “Oh, I've heard all about you.” Veronica gave him a big smile. His brow elevated, but he didn't take the bait. Instead, he stared at me funny. “Nice wart.” Leaning forward without touching me, he flicked the wart from the tip of my nose. Veronica let out a loud cackle, proving she should be the one in my costume. “I told you it was stupid!” She gloated. With my pointer finger, I moved the paint around my nose to fill in the blank spot. When I finished, he was still watching me. “Your hair's grown a lot,” I said to him. “So has your bottom.” My eyes rounded and blood rushed to my face. Veronica hooted with hilarity, bending at the waist. Even Jay let out a loud snicker, the traitor. I wished Kaidan weren't so perceptive, but it was true. The feminine curves that had always eluded me were finally making an appearance. Stupid tight dress. “Dude, you can get away with anything,” said the pirate to the straight-faced ape. “I meant it as a compliment.” “That was awesome.” Veronica grabbed Jay by the hand. “Come on. Let's go find me a drink.” She winked at me as they ambled away. I gave my attention to the dry, trampled grass and scattered cans for a moment before working up the nerve to say something. “My dad gave me a cell phone.” And a car. And a ton of money. Kaidan set the ape head on the ground and pulled his phone from a fuzzy pocket, blowing off brown lint. Then he held his furry thumbs above the buttons and nodded at me. I started to give him my number, but his brow creased in frustration with the big, costumed hands. “Here,” I said, taking his phone. Saving my number for him gave me a thrill.

You're a ray of bright light in my very dark world, Ric. It's like when I step outside and take my sunglasses off to let the sun shine on my face. It gets a little lighter in here.' Pres gently tapped his pointer finger against his temple. 'When I'm in my office ..... there's no light. When I'm in my bedroom alone ..... there's no light. When I sit in my bedroom alone ..... there's no light. When I sit in my kitchen, eating my very carefully prepared meal - for one - there's no light. But when I'm around you, wrapped in your arms, kissing you, laughing with you, making love to you, everything's do damn bright ..... like sunshine.

I put my finger to my lips to shush Jack. He put a finger to his lips, too, but used the middle one instead of the pointer.

There’s movement flickering across the crowd as the audience around us presses their pointer and middle fingers together, the symbol hovering over their hearts. A diamond.

Ireland Quinn Brady," he finally moved forward with an extended pointer finger to push me back down. "You are exceptional and beautiful and everything I wish I could be. I cant believe that you happened to me, and I promise every tomorrow we have together will be better than the last. This I will tell you over and over and over again until I take my last breath. I love you.

The sign for believe flashed into my head—the way Sean signed it—his pointer finger against the side of his head like he’s saying “think,” then his hands coming together—like the sign for marry. I stood there thinking, for the first time, about how perfect that word was—to have a thought in your head and then to marry it, to take it into your heart forever . . . “I can’t believe

His pointer finger on his left hand is definitely broken, completely bent at an odd angle with the bone sticking out. I smile when I realize it’s the same finger Ryan had broken on River’s hand. That’s my girl.

A series of luminous golden swirls swept over the top of my hand and between my thumb and pointer finger, sweeping in several whirls along the lines of my palm. I looked at Ash’s hand. He bore the same mark as I did.

A clatter of metal against the concrete made me look back. Liam had moved on from the car to a nearby pile of bikes that were tangled together like brambles. He picked through the frames and spokes and wheels, working carefully, trying to get down to whatever he'd seen under them.... "Do you actually know how to ride?" "Do I know how to ride?" Liam scoffed, leaning over the bike's seat so his face was inches from mine. His pale blue eyes were electric with his excitement; they sent a charge through me, sizzling the rest of the world into peaceful, quiet static. That last bit of distance must have been as unbearable to him as it was to me, because his fingers came down over where my hands rested on the busted leather seat. I felt his touch spread over my skin like late afternoon sunshine. His lips skimmed my cheek, his breath warm against my ear as he said in low, honeyed tones, "Not only can I ride, darlin', but I can give you a few pointers– "Hey, Hell's Angels!" Cole barked. "I didn't bring you in here to shop around for yourselves! Get your assess over here!" Liam expression clouded over as he pulled back, the fluttering excitement vanishing like a candle blown out. with a single breath. I must have looked as disappointed as I felt, letting out a small sound of irritation, because just like that he was smiling again as he tucked a loose strand of hair back over my ear. A softer, smaller smile than before, but one meant for me. It warmed me down to my bones.

There’s movement flickering across the crowd as the audience around us presses their pointer and middle fingers together, the symbol hovering over their hearts. A diamond. Ilya’s image of strength, power, and honor. They are paying their respects to the fallen.

Just one thing. . .” Dallas starts. I can tell by the tone that he thinks he’s going to be funny. I turn and look at him, waiting. He’s scrunching up his face. “Him? You picked him?” “Shut up right now if you know what’s good for you.” “I mean, maybe with the lights off, or from far away, maybe, but up close?” he shudders. “That’s it. You’re on lockdown.” He gets on his knees. “Wait! No! I was kidding! I. . .” I hold up a hand. “Nope.” I take my pointer finger and circle my face and torso. “This? All of this? Now off limits.

Look,” Anil says, after Billy has explained enough of this. “Just cut to the chase.” “The chase,” Billy says. He knocks back the new shot that the bartender has set up for him. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand. “The chase is that at the end of it she said she just wanted me to say one thing. She just wanted me to tell her that everything was going to be okay and that things were going to get easier from here on out.” “Okay, yeah,” says Anil. “And you responded by saying—?” “I responded by saying that it would be ethically unsound for me to make a claim, for the purposes of comfort, that I couldn’t be certain was true under the present circumstances.” Anil opens his mouth and then shuts it again. Finally he offers this: “No offense, man, but you’re a fucking idiot.” “I’m aware.” “Fucking,” Anil says, ticking it off on his thumb. “Idiot,” he concludes, ticking this one off on his pointer finger.

I love you.” The words tumbled from her lips easily, like they had rolled from her tongue hundreds of times. But they hadn’t. She had never said them before, but as she heard them in her own voice, every cell in her body knew they were true. She hadn’t known what love was, but she knew it now. Love was the fluttering in her tummy whenever Carmine was near, the twinkle in his eyes when he laughed, the heat in her body from his words. Love was happy. Love was safe. Love was green. Love was him—the beautifully flawed boy who made her glow. He stared at her, those words hanging in the air between them. “And I love you,” he said, his voice a whisper, but Haven felt it powerfully, deep down in her soul. “Per sempre.” “Sempre?” she asked. Cracking a smile, he brushed his pointer finger softly across her lips. “Always and forever.

When his pointer finger trailed toward my belly button, I jumped and stepped back. I was so close to the bed that my legs folded and I ended up falling onto the mattress. My shoulder screamed in protest, and I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. “I—uh…” he said, stumbling over his words, his cheeks turning slightly pink. I pushed up onto one elbow. “Sorry for feeling me up?” I finished for him. He grinned. “That wasn’t feeling you up. When I feel you up, you’ll know it.

She watched Delta try to pull herself into a pitiful looking crouch. Delta was far from coordinated, though, so her feet slipped out from under her. For a second, she almost looked like she was trying to run in place with her feet slipping and sliding all over the place. Finally, Delta stopped her pathetic running man imitation so that she ended up in a squat. Her hands held out in front of her, clasped together with her pointer finger and thumb in the shape of a gun. Good Lord, her sister looked like a Charlie’s Angel reject. - Elena

My mum always taught that the truth will set you free.” “Did she now?” “Mm hmm,” Lachlan brushed the pad of his pointer finger over her cheek’s silken skin. “But she kept one truth hidden from me until very recently.” “What was that?” He gulped. “You know the truth thing on the medallion? “Aye.” “Well, if that’s my rallying cry, then it will mean the world to me if you trust that I’m not lying.” She let the disk drop back to his chest. “Ye can tell me anything, I’d reckon.” He needed to tell her the truth. “My father is – was William Wallace.

Did she deserve this, Asala wondered? Did Ekrem? Did Cynwrig? Did Hafiz? The engineers who had first proposed the solar harvest? The politicians who favored whichever cause lined their pockets most? Did the flag-wavers, the finger-pointers, the us-versus-thems—did any of them, for all their greed and hate and folly, deserve punishment on this scale? Punishment in general, they deserved, herself included. A slap in the face, a knife to the throat. But not a whole world. Not every world. Their crimes, even in aggregate, did not warrant extinction. Even if it was their own fault.

The plant he’d brought home wasn’t a currant, like I’d first thought. It was hawthorn, and while the blossoms had stronger medicinal properties than the berries, the bark and the leaves were what you really wanted. “For what?” My blood pumped with hope and fear. “For hearts!” he said, holding a ruby-colored berry between his thumb and pointer finger. The sun caught it just right, illuminating its heart shape and blood color, illustrating the rule that nature always showed us how to harvest its treasures. Walnuts, shaped like a brain, were exceptional for cerebral health. Slice a carrot crossway and what did you see? An eye, and there was no vegetable better suited to improving sight. Avocadoes worked wonders on the uterus, celery on the bones, grapefruit on the breasts. And this ruby berry, apparently, was a miracle cure for hearts.

All this is equally exasperating for the person who is doing the pointing, for he wants to show me something which, to him, is so obvious that one would think any fool could see it. He must feel as we all feel when trying to explain to a thick-headed child that two times zero is zero and not two, or some other perfectly simple little fact. And there is something even more exasperating than this. I am sure that many of you may, for a fleeting moment, have had one clear glimpse of what the finger was pointing at—a glimpse in which you shared the pointer’s astonishment that you had never seen it before, in which you saw the whole thing so plainly that you knew you could never forget it . . . and then you lost it. After this, there may be a tormenting nostalgia that goes on for years. How to find the way back, back to the door in the wall that no longer seems to be there, back to the turning which led into paradise—which wasn’t on the map, which you saw for sure right here. But now there is nothing. It is like trying to trace someone with whom you fell in love at first sight, and then lost touch; and you go back to the original place of meeting again and again, trying in vain to pick up the threads. If

You look pretty, Mommy.” “Thank you, sweetheart,” I say, gazing at her in the reflection of the mirror as she watches me, her expression curious. I pat the counter beside the sink, inviting her to join me, and she climbs up to sit on it as I grab a tube of lip-gloss, strawberry flavored. She puckers up, and I put some on her, smiling as I do it. “You know I love you, right, pretty girl? I love you more than everything. More than the trees and the birds and the sky. More than even pepperoni pizza and Harlequin novels.” “What’s a Harley-Quinn novel?” “Nothing you’ll need to know about for a long, long time,” I say, putting the lip-gloss away. “Just know that I don’t love them nearly as much as I love you.” She kicks her feet, grinning. “I love you, too.” “More than chocolate ice cream and Saturday mornings?” “Uh-huh,” she says. “More than colors and money!” “No way.” “And the Yoo-Hoo drinks and Happy Meal toys.” “Whoa.” “And even more than Breezeo!” Eyes wide, I look at her. That’s some serious commitment coming from my superhero-loving girl. “You know, you can love us the same.” “Nuh-uh,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re my mommy, so I love you more.” I press my pointer finger to the tip of her nose. “Well, I sure appreciate it, but remember that it’s okay if you ever do.

A school bus is many things. A school bus is a substitute for a limousine. More class. A school bus is a classroom with a substitute teacher. A school bus is the students' version of a teachers' lounge. A school bus is the principal's desk. A school bus is the nurse's cot. A school bus is an office with all the phones ringing. A school bus is a command center. A school bus is a pillow fort that rolls. A school bus is a tank reshaped- hot dogs and baloney are the same meat. A school bus is a science lab- hot dogs and baloney are the same meat. A school bus is a safe zone. A school bus is a war zone. A school bus is a concert hall. A school bus is a food court. A school bus is a court of law, all judges, all jury. A school bus is a magic show full of disappearing acts. Saw someone in half. Pick a card, any card. Pass it on to the person next to you. He like you. She like you. K-i-s-s-i . . . s-s-i-p-p-i is only funny on a school bus. A school bus is a stage. A school bus is a stage play. A school bus is a spelling bee. A speaking bee. A get your hand out of my face bee. A your breath smell like sour turnips bee. A you don't even know what a turnip bee is. A maybe not, but I know what a turn up is and your breath smell all the way turnt up bee. A school bus is a bumblebee, buzzing around with a bunch of stingers on the inside of it. Windows for wings that flutter up and down like the windows inside Chinese restaurants and post offices in neighborhoods where school bus is a book of stamps. Passing mail through windows. Notes in the form of candy wrappers telling the street something sweet came by. Notes in the form of sneaky middle fingers. Notes in the form of fingers pointing at the world zooming by. A school bus is a paintbrush painting the world a blurry brushstroke. A school bus is also wet paint. Good for adding an extra coat, but it will dirty you if you lean against it, if you get too comfortable. A school bus is a reclining chair. In the kitchen. Nothing cool about it but makes perfect sense. A school bus is a dirty fridge. A school bus is cheese. A school bus is a ketchup packet with a tiny hole in it. Left on the seat. A plastic fork-knife-spoon. A paper tube around a straw. That straw will puncture the lid on things, make the world drink something with some fizz and fight. Something delightful and uncomfortable. Something that will stain. And cause gas. A school bus is a fast food joint with extra value and no food. Order taken. Take a number. Send a text to the person sitting next to you. There is so much trouble to get into. Have you ever thought about opening the back door? My mother not home till five thirty. I can't. I got dance practice at four. A school bus is a talent show. I got dance practice right now. On this bus. A school bus is a microphone. A beat machine. A recording booth. A school bus is a horn section. A rhythm section. An orchestra pit. A balcony to shot paper ball three-pointers from. A school bus is a basketball court. A football stadium. A soccer field. Sometimes a boxing ring. A school bus is a movie set. Actors, directors, producers, script. Scenes. Settings. Motivations. Action! Cut. Your fake tears look real. These are real tears. But I thought we were making a comedy. A school bus is a misunderstanding. A school bus is a masterpiece that everyone pretends to understand. A school bus is the mountain range behind Mona Lisa. The Sphinx's nose. An unknown wonder of the world. An unknown wonder to Canton Post, who heard bus riders talk about their journeys to and from school. But to Canton, a school bus is also a cannonball. A thing that almost destroyed him. Almost made him motherless.

It was so easy. A slight curl of his right pointer finger and a man’s life was gone forever.

I'd rather be alone than be surrounded by finger pointers and name-callers. Stay away from me.

Green light,” she called, and I watched Becky run ahead until she was just a few inches from Michelle. Kayla was right next to her. Just as she reached out to tag Michelle, Kayla pushed into Becky’s back hard, and Becky flew forward. I gasped. Michelle turned around as Kayla tagged her arm. Becky fell at Michelle’s feet. She wrapped her arms around Michelle’s legs to catch herself. Michelle fell forward onto her knees, and Becky bumped her mouth against Michelle’s shoe. “Time!” I called, stopping the game. “Sis, you all right?” Heather asked Michelle. Michelle didn’t answer. She looked at Becky who was on her knees, staring at the ground. “You okay?” I asked Becky. She started to cry. I didn’t know if she really was hurt or just looking for attention. I sighed and looked away, waiting for her to start screaming her head off. Luke ran over to us. He looked at her, pointed, and cried, “Beck, you’re bleeding!” I looked up. Blood was trickling out of her mouth. She gasped. I glared at Luke for scaring her. He closed his mouth. Becky opened hers wider. “Kayla, why are you such a little brat?” asked Michelle, slapping off the grass stuck to her knees. “It was an accident!” Kayla insisted. “Yeah right!” Michelle yelled, “You just wanted to win! It’s just a game!” Kayla stood there looking guilty. I looked at Becky and noticed that one of her teeth was missing. I looked down, found a piece of white on the ground, and picked it up with my thumb and pointer finger. It was Becky’s tooth. “Becky, look!” I said, holding it up, “You lost your first tooth!” - The Castle Park Kids

Paul told us in 1 Corinthians 5 that we should be more concerned with judging the sins of the church instead of judging the sins of the world. I think if we spent half the time judging ourselves that we spend judging the world, we’d have enough integrity and spiritual power to command respect from the world. Instead, the world sees a bunch of chronic complainers and finger-pointers preaching about a dead guy they don’t imitate. “Edwin,

You think it’s funny to laugh at a blind girl. That kind of worries me, Morg. Makes me wonder about what kind of man I have managing my bar. See, there are two things I hate.” I held up my thumb and my pointer finger and counted them off. “Bullies and bitches. I never knew you were a bully, Morg. Now, don’t bitch, or I’ll have two reasons to fire you. Go home.

My chest heaves up and down as I spit the words out when I feel my pointer finger jab against something very hot and solid. And that's when I realize I'm poking Max's chest with my finger. God, wow... that's... that's some firm bare flesh right there. I remember just how exquisite his skin felt under my touch the one time we made out. But touching him like this, when our emotions are running high and his skin is hot and wet, it's a completely different sensory experience. A second later I remember that I'm only wearing a sports bra. My cleavage and my stomach are on full display, mere inches from Max's body. And that's when I notice that glazed-over look in his eyes... and where exactly he's looking. It's not at my face. It's at my chest. My boobs specifically. I step back and cross my arms over my torso. My cheeks heat and I start to turn away instinctively. And then I see Max's hands fly to the waistband of his jeans. His fingers fumble and for a moment, I wonder what the hell he's so panicked about. But then I see it. The bulge at the front of his jeans. Max is turned on at the sight of me, sweaty and in a sports bra. A whole new feeling consumes me. It feels a lot like satisfaction. Maybe a tad smug too. I can't help it. Max Boyson is turned on by me again, but this time I barely even touched him.

There are so many subtle ways we women subconsciously protect ourselves throughout the day; protect ourselves from shadows, from unseen predators. From cautionary tales and urban legends. So subtle, in fact, that we hardly even realize we’re doing them. Leave work before dark. Clutch our purses to our chest with one hand, hold our keys between our fingers in the other, like a weapon, as we shuffle toward our car, strategically parked beneath a streetlight in case we weren’t able to leave work before dark. Approach our car, glance in the back seat before unlocking the front. Grip our phone tight, pointer finger just a swipe away from 9-1-1. Step inside. Lock it again. Do not idle. Drive away quickly.

And don’t knock my housekeeping skills.” “I’m not, Trésor.” He rubs his thumb and pointer finger together in inspection. “You have absolutely none.

Look at me.” Jessy points her pointer and middle fingers at her eyes. “I’m no one’s fucking human. I’m Jessy Whitley, and those”—she points to the ship’s wreckage—“those are my girls. So, how are we going to help them?

There is a website called PointerPointer.com that will match a picture of people pointing fingers at your cursor.

You have a boner,” she pointed out. Literally, she pointed it out. With her pointer finger. Now, if he wasn’t the son of Clinton Fuller and raised the way he was, perhaps that would’ve embarrassed him, but as it stood, he had to fight the urge to push her hand down so her pretty little black-painted nail poked said erection. He was trying to have manners. “It’s the biggest compliment a man can give a woman,” he said. “You could just say you think I’m pretty.” “Actions over words. Think about it,” he said

You used a Nightmare Card on me,” I hissed. “Get out of my head.” Ravyn pulled the burgundy light from his pocket and held the Card in his hand for me to see. His Nightmare was identical to my uncle’s, the monster on its face just as fearsome. Ravyn shot me a narrow glance and tapped the Card three times with his pointer finger, then slid it back into his pocket. “There,” he said. “I’m no longer using it.

She just wanted me to tell her that everything was going to be okay and that things were going to get easier from here on out.” “Okay, yeah,” says Anil. “And you responded by saying—?” “I responded by saying that it would be ethically unsound for me to make a claim, for the purposes of comfort, that I couldn’t be certain was true under the present circumstances.” Anil opens his mouth and then shuts it again. Finally he offers this: “No offense, man, but you’re a fucking idiot.” “I’m aware.” “Fucking,” Anil says, ticking it off on his thumb. “Idiot,” he concludes, ticking this one off on his pointer finger.

What else did her mother tell you?” Ethan asked, looking for any advantage in his task of winning her over. “That she’d call us later and give us pointers on wooing her daughter. Apparently, Naomi has something of a stubborn nature.” A snort escaped him. “I hadn’t noticed.” Javier paced the living room as Ethan stroked Naomi’s silky hair, unable to resist running his fingers through the long brown strands. “What are you thinking?” “That fate is laughing at me.” A chuckle made Ethan’s chest vibrate, causing Naomi’s head to jiggle. He cradled her head in his big palm to prevent her from falling before replying. “She’s certainly not what either of us expected, that’s for sure.” Javier shot him a dark look. “No shit, Sherlock. I mean don’t get me wrong, short and curvy works fine for me, but I always expected, if ever fate was cruel enough to curse me, she’d at least give me a woman who likes me.” “I’m sure she will in time. We took her by surprise, not to mention she’s in pain. Besides, I kind of like that she’s feisty. She’ll need it to keep up with us.” Round eyes and an open mouth met his answer. “You, my friend, are insane. One ball too many to the head I think. I mean, not only does she not want you, shouldn’t you be more pissed that it looks like she’s meant for both of us?” Ethan shrugged. “I’ll admit, I never expected to share, but if fate says that’s my lot, then at least it chose someone I could tolerate. And beat in a wrestling match if I need to. Besides, I’ll only have to share if you bother to stick around to mark her.” “Oh, I’m staying, so you can forget about keeping her for yourself,” Javier replied shooting him a dark look. “What happened to I’m not meant for monogamy?” Ethan pitched his voice mockingly. A sigh emerged from Javier’s mouth before he slumped in the chair across from him. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. It’s hard to think at all with my damned cat yammering for me to bite her. Mayhap if you were to claim her first, the need for me to do so would vanish?” The optimism in his friend’s voice made him laugh again. “Sorry, no such luck I’m afraid. From everything I’ve ever heard, once you find the one, you’re done for. The need to mark her, claim her, just gets stronger and stronger.” Already the urge to take her rode Ethan hard. It didn’t help that he held her cuddled on his lap, her sweet fragrance tickling his nose while her lush body pressed against his turgid cock.

What You Pray Toward “The orgasm has replaced the cross as the focus of longing and the image of fulfillment.” —Malcolm Muggeridge, 1966 I. Hubbie 1 used to get wholly pissed when I made myself come. I’m right here!, he’d sputter, blood popping to the surface of his fuzzed cheeks, goddamn it, I’m right here! By that time, I was in no mood to discuss the myriad merits of my pointer, or to jam the brakes on the express train slicing through my blood, It was easier to suffer the practiced professorial huff, the hissed invectives and the cold old shoulder, liver-dotted, quaking with rage. Shall we pause to bless professors and codgers and their bellowed, unquestioned ownership of things? I was sneaking time with my own body. I know I signed something over, but it wasn’t that. II. No matter how I angle this history, it’s weird, so let’s just say Bringing Up Baby was on the telly and suddenly my lips pressing against the couch cushions felt spectacular and I thought wow this is strange, what the hell, I’m 30 years old, am I dying down there is this the feel, does the cunt go to heaven first, ooh, snapped river, ooh shimmy I had never had it never knew, oh i clamored and lurched beneath my little succession of boys I cried writhed hissed, ooh wee, suffered their flat lapping and machine-gun diddling their insistent c’mon girl c’mon until I memorized the blueprint for drawing blood from their shoulders, until there was nothing left but the self-satisfied liquidy snore of he who has rocked she, he who has made she weep with script. But this, oh Cary, gee Katherine, hallelujah Baby, the fur do fly, all gush and kaboom on the wind. III. Don’t hate me because I am multiple, hurtling. As long as there is still skin on the pad of my finger, as long as I’m awake, as long as my (new) husband’s mouth holds out, I am the spinner, the unbridled, the bellowing freak. When I have emptied him, he leans back, coos, edges me along, keeps wondering count. He falls to his knees in front of it, marvels at my yelps and carousing spine, stares unflinching as I bleed spittle unto the pillows. He has married a witness. My body bucks, slave to its selfish engine, and love is the dim miracle of these little deaths, fracturing, speeding for the surface. IV. We know the record. As it taunts us, we have giggled, considered stopwatches, little laboratories. Somewhere beneath the suffering clean, swathed in eyes and silver, she came 134 times in one hour. I imagine wires holding her tight, her throat a rattling window. Searching scrubbed places for her name, I find only reams of numbers. I ask the quietest of them: V. Are we God?

All instruction is but as a finger pointing to the moon; and he whose gaze is fixed upon the pointer will never see beyond.

Tom was precariously close to coming himself and fuck no, he didn’t want this to end. Not yet. Instead, he pulled out and grabbed Prophet around the chest, forcing him to straighten up. He bit the side of his neck, sucked hard. And then he took Prophet’s hand, forced him to fist it, leaving his pointer finger out. Then he took Prophet’s wrist and made him circle his finger around his own leaking cock, catching pre-cum. Then he tugged Prophet’s hand up to his mouth and said, “Open.” Prophet did. Guiding him, he watched Prophet rub his finger along his own tongue. And then Tom moved Prophet’s hand out of the way, turned Prophet’s head to the side so he could put his own mouth on Prophet’s, licking the man’s tongue. Prophet groaned and bucked his ass back against him. Tom knew it was killing him not to come. “Good, Proph. So fucking good watching you like this . . . all easy for me.” “You’re so dirty, T.” “For you.” “You so fucking love this.” “And you push me to it on goddamned purpose,” Tom ground out. Prophet shrugged his answer. Tom

Oh, girl! He's got a big one,” the fortune teller exclaimed, her dark eyes briefly flickering up to Violet's face before returning back to the cards spread out in front of her. She paused for a moment as she studied them, her pointer finger tapping against her jaw. Finally, she added, “Just like a summer sausage, and I'm not talking about the snack-sized ones. And it's attached to a body that could put Dwayne Johnson to shame. What women could resist a package like that? I'd say the future is definitely going to be bright... at least for you.

Everything okay?” Hunter called to me. He sounded like a noncommittal friend asking after my health. I looked like a crazy person sitting at the table after everyone else had left, staring at “The Space Between.” I was going to sound like a crazy person no matter what I said to him next. It had to be said. I stood with my book bag, swept up “The Space Between” without a single mark on it, and crumpled it in one fist. Rounding the table, I showed his story at his chest. He took the wad of paper. “What’s the matter?” he asked innocently. I thought of Sumer, Manohar, and Brian just outside the door, listening. I did not want them to hear this. But if I asked Hunter to step away from the door and close it so we could have a private conversation, I would be showing him how much I cared. I was through with that. I moved even closer to him and met his gaze. “I’m below you?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said evenly, looking me straight in the eye, obviously waiting at the door for exactly this altercation, which proved he did in fact know what I was talking about, and I had had enough. “I’ll tell you what I’m talking about.” I touched the thumb of my opposite hand. “I wrote a story about how much I liked you. I never meant for you to read it.” I touched my pointer finger. “You wrote a story about how much you hated me.” Hunter’s grin melted from his face. He took a breath to say something. “No, you’re right,” I interrupted him. “Not one story. You wrote three stories like that.” I touched my third finger. “I wrote a story about my mother, hoping we could talk about it.” I touched my fourth finger. “In response, you wrote a story about looking down on me.” I touched my pinkie, really banged on it with my other finger, until I bent it backward and hurt it. “Don’t write any more stories about me, Hunter. And I won’t write any more stories about you. Deal?” I whirled toward the door. “Wait,” he said. Whatever. I’d reached the threshold. The light was brighter in the hallway, and Summer, talking to Manohar and Brian, looked up at me with concern in her eyes. “Erin.” His hot hand was on my shoulder. He pulled me back into the room, against the door, out of their line of sight. He leaned close. This must have been because he didn’t want the others to hear, but I could almost have pretend that he wanted to be near me as he growled against my cheek, “If that’s all you got from my story, that I hate you, you’re not a careful reader.” Even though my heart raced with his closeness, I tilted my head and stared at him blankly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Two could play that game. I rolled away from him and stepped around the door frame. He caught me and pulled me back again. Pinned me against the door. Crushed my lips beneath his.

He moved down from the trail we had just been climbing and started to take the steep dirt path downward. Not paying a bit of attention to the trail because I was too focused on wondering how hard it would be to get myself off using his body and the vibrations, when his nose end hit the mud first, a huge wave of brown wetness covered us. And of course, because I was too busy trying to work at getting myself off, my back was arched. I had, in my mind, the best plan to arch my back and rub my core against the seat and his hard body. But when that mud wave came up and then back down, it shot straight down the back of my pants. “Oh, my God, Lee!” He doesn’t answer, just laughs harder. So hard, in fact, that he has to stop the four-wheeler. “This isn’t funny! I have mud . . . oh my God . . . I have mud in my ass!” His laughter picks up until he is forced to hold his sides. “Holy crap. I can feel it. It’s all in my panties, Lee!” Again, the big jerk just keeps on laughing until he has to pull his shirt up, flip it to the inside and wipe the tears his laughing has caused, rolling down his face. “I swear, Liam Beckett. I was this close, this freaking close,” I scream, holding my pointer finger just an inch from my thumb, “To having one hell of an orgasm. It was building so high, I was too busy wondering if I would fall off the back when I went off. This freaking close and now . . . now I have mud in my ASS!

Of course, so far as they are given as answers they are pointers by which we may know where to look for the presence of the Buddha; but we must remember that the finger pointing at the moon remains a finger and under no circumstances can it be changed into the moon itself. Danger always lurks where the intellect slyly creeps in and takes the index for the moon itself.

My hand rests gently relaxed on the golden-brown Canadian Maple surface, pointer finger sitting just behind a beautiful wooden disk, ready to start a Crokinole game in our monthly meet-up.

See ya later, big guy,” I say as I teeter on my tall heels in front of him and pat his chest. “You know, you’d be a lot hotter if you were just a smidge.” I hold up my pointer finger and thumb, pinching them so there’s a tiny gap between my fingers. “Less grumpy.” “Noted,” he says, and even though he fights it, I can see it: the tiniest hint of a smile, the whisper of it on the edges of his lips. “Get home safe, princess.

bothers me that someone used my knife. I’ve backtracked that evening and decided I either dropped it while I was walking, though the pockets on my cloak are deep, and it would have been hard for something to fall out. Or someone took it from the booth.” He vehemently shook his head. “I have a hard time believing that. The booth is warded against such things.” My head told me the same thing. “I know, but I’m trying to cover all angles. Do you know who cast the spell over it that night?” “Jocelyn did.” I dropped my shoulders, feeling defeated. “She does have powerful magic that would be hard to break.” He nodded. “Though, now that you mention it, I do recall Fern telling me that a spell can be undone if a person knows how and has an equal or greater power than the witch who cast it.” I tilted my head to the side, happy for the branch that he’d extended that still gave me hope. “True. It’s not easy, but it can be done. The question is, who would want to do it?” He looked at me matter-of-factly. “Whoever wanted to kill Merry, I’d expect.” I snorted softly. I’d meant that who would want to do it…so that they could harm Merry. But whatever. “Okay then. You were at the booth all night. Did anyone get close enough that they could undo the spell?” He held up a gnarled pointer finger. “I did leave the booth at one point to use the restroom. Oriana covered

Sawing off all trace of a Midwestern accent from his anodyne English he is exacting in his deception; he refuses the moniker of America’s heartland and jeers at any hint of the provincial. No sense about him that he could unload and clean a hunting rifle in the dark without shooting his finger off nor that he has hunted geese knee-deep in brackish water a shorthaired pointer crashing into the lake after him. No sense at all that he has known the thrill of an apex predator vanquishing all manner of animal before him. Greyhounds with no table manners bloodying the foyer of his grand house with gore. That was the Nick of his childhood. Now he is a different man, an impostor.

I do not want to love Muslims, even if the Bible tells me I should. I find difficult to love those who persecute me.” “You love your grandfather.” “Of course! He was everything to me.” “He was Muslim.” “He was Christian,” Victoria corrected. “Not always.” Professor Nasir put a pointer finger to his lips and regarded Victoria thoughtfully. “He was once a Muslim, but you were still able to love him. Did you love him because he was Christian?” “No, it was because he was my grandfather and a wonderful man.” “What lived inside him made the difference, not what religion he proclaimed. Is that correct?” “Of course!” “That is how it should be for everyone we meet. We must not judge people based on what we see on the outside. Instead, we must look past things such as religious labels, skin tones, gender, age, and economic status to see what lives within. That is how we fulfill Christ’s teachings.

He’d never understand this strange creature. Pinching his pointer finger and thumb, he flicked water at her. A few droplets sailed through the air and splashed against her bare fins, suddenly reminding him that he’d intended to go back and get those additional flippers she’d used to speed her movement. At least that would be helpful for her. She let out a frustrated noise and glared at him. Oh, how he adored that expression. She wanted to fight him. He could see that. She wanted to reach into the water, rip him out of it, and gut him just like he’d gutted the fish for her. Thankfully, it would take a lot more than her meager claws to do that to him. Still, he couldn’t help but goad her.

that the severest blow of retaliation for that sin fell upon Himself. What kind of God is this? God gave Adam a perfect world, a perfect wife, a perfect environment, a perfect commission, a perfect vocation, and then, even when Adam and Eve transgressed, doing the one thing in that perfect world that was not permitted, even then God promised that the seed of the woman would destroy the seed of the serpent, crushing its head (Gen. 3:15). Imitate that. The environment of your home should be full of grace. When you have a home filled with grace, it is not without standards. You are not introducing moral anarchy. Grace is not an amorphous, gelatinous mass. Grace has a backbone. However, when the standards are broken, the heaviest sacrifices in the work of restoration are made by the guardians of grace, not by enforcers of law, finger-pointers, parental accusers, or people who correct in a nasal tone of self-pity.

I’ve been alive for so long, and we’d move about so often, but it was always to the same kinds of places. Different variations on remote European country sides. There’s so much of the world I haven’t seen, except for through books or movies. I went to the desert for the very first time this year. I poked a cactus, just to feel it.” Jay held up his pointer finger, as if in demonstration. “Didn’t that hurt?” It was certainly hurting Alexei, this absentminded confession of all Jay had never been given, never been allowed. “Oh yes.” Jay smiled up at the night sky. “But it was a reminder. That it was…real.

triple duty—nouns, verbs, and adverbs in asl DID YOU KNOW? The number or quality of repeated movements within a sign can mean the difference between a noun, verb, or adverb, or provide multiple kinds of information simultaneously. This grammatical feature means ASL is often more economical than spoken language. NOUN: Repeat the sign’s movement twice using a small range of motion. For example, the pointer and middle fingers are tapped against each other to make the sign “chair.” VERB: The sign’s movement is made only once, using a larger range of motion. Sometimes this movement is altered to more closely mirror the real-life action (see: “cup” → “drink”). Here the pointer and middle fingers of one hand are set on the other to make the verb “to sit.” Greater force and a stern facial expression can form the command “sit down.” ADVERB: Some signs can be imbued with descriptive information by tweaking or adding movement. For example, to add the information for a long period of time, a sign can be adjusted to incorporate a slow, circular motion (see: working, sitting). NOW YOU TRY! Using the base sign study, tell a partner about a time when you had to study hard or for a long time.

I choose truth. She thinks for a moment, tapping her pointer finger to her lips in concentration. Her dark brown eyes narrow on me, and I freeze, hoping she can’t read my mind and the dirty turn it’s taken. “What are you thinking right now?” Fuck. “That I’m really drunk,” I evade, but she calls me on my bullshit. “Wrong answer. What are you really thinking?” Her gaze digs a hole to my very soul, and I know I won’t be able to lie. “I’m thinking,” I start carefully. “That I really want to know what it feels like to have your body pressed against mine in the most intimate way.” Her breath catches on an inhale, but I keep going. “I’m thinking about how badly I want to kiss you and learn how every inch of your body tastes. If we’re being honest, I’ve thought about that since the moment I met you, and my desire for you has only grown in the last ten years. You’re the perfect match to my chaos, and I’m ready to risk it all for you.” I’ve barely finished speaking before she’s in my lap, and every train of thought has effectively left the building. Instinctively, I grab her waist, pulling her closer, rubbing her cotton-covered center against my erection on purpose. We both groan, and that single sound from her makes my dick twitch against her. I know she feels it. Her next words are a whisper against my lips. “Truth or dare?” “Dare,” I whisper back. “Kiss me.” With my heart completely in her hands, I kiss Macey Veronica Rosario with all I have for the very first time, and I hope beyond all hope, that it won’t be the last.

she slowly, quietly puts her pointer finger in her mouth. Then she bites it, and as blood oozes from the top, she sticks it under my nose. “Bell.” “Y-yes?” “Eat it!” What…? I stand there gaping, my mind frozen. She sticks her finger into my mouth. Wait a second!! “Lick it!” What?! “Suck it!” Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!

I was reaching my hand over the person in front of me to shake hands with Obama when a random guy barreled into me from behind. I turned to look at what had happened, and in the meantime, I felt a hand on my hand. I turned back around, saw Barack Obama was holding my hand, and immediately recoiled. About halfway into this maneuver, I realized what I was doing so I tried to recover by grabbing his pointer finger and shaking it. Like an infant. But not in a cute way! ‘Merry Christmas, Mr. President!’ I exclaimed, red-faced. ‘Yes,’ he replied, staring at my hand shaking his finger.

Prana Mudra The prana mudra is designed to help bring life force into the body and is connected to the Root Chakra like the earth mudra. Such energizing solutions for the Root Chakra are important because if the root is not healthy, none of the other chakras will function in good health. • Take both hands to face the palms. •       Curl each hand's ring finger and pink finger to touch the thumb tip of the same hand. • Keep the middle fingers and the pointer straight. • Perform this three times a day for fifteen minutes While you perform mudras, remember to breathe. Sometimes you'll focus on getting things right when you try a new pose, and you may hold your breath. Return your breath attention. Pause before moving on to your next appointment or activity after releasing the mudra to notice any effects. Over time, notice if your hands are more flexible, if the mudra has become effortless. As your hands ' flexibility increases, it reflects growing openness in your body and nature, allowing energy to flow more freely. Apana Mudra You must remove what you no longer want to bring with you as you clear your chakras: mentally, spiritually, and energetically. How much are you willing to release? You release when you breathe out, when you sweat, and when you go to the bathroom. These are indicators of how the body removes waste that you no longer want or need, including thoughts, food and energy. This phase can be supported by a hand mudra, the apana mudra: • Hold out your hands to face the palms. •       Curl each hand's ring finger and middle finger to meet the thumb of the same hand. • Hold this posture for 15 minutes, 3 times a day Use this mudra to help you get rid of toxicity and make room for new beginnings, new ideas and new projects. Imagine the purifying effects of prana entering your system with each inhalation. Know you're expelling what you don't need any more with each exhalation. This mudra is helpful together for all the chakras. It corresponds to disease or disease when any chakra is imbalanced. The apana mudra supports the proper functioning of all your energy centers by helping with physical, psychological, and energetic elimination of toxicity.

There’s a new lash cream—we always used Vaseline and ash growing up. Well, not anymore.” She unscrewed another small container, no bigger than a lip balm, and showed me the black grease inside. It didn’t resemble any mascara I’d ever seen. “How is it applied?” I asked. Beatrice closed the distance between us, told me to hold still, and dabbed her pointer finger in the goo and then against her thumb. With absolute confidence, she rubbed the ends of my lashes between the pads of her blackened fingertips.

I realize that wherever I am, I arrived. Lessons from the Mat How to Know if You are Not a Yogi (yet)  You think your practice is better than the person next to you.   You think you rpractice is worse than the person next to you.   Your clothes are super cute, but you are kind of mean.   You make the finger Mudra of connecting Pointer to Thumb Man on every pose. Meanwhile your back is killing you.   You are still whining over stupid shit. Come on, really? Is it ever going to end?   You see what’s wrong with everything, and everyone.   And lastly, if you think you are a yogi, then you may not be. But if you think are never going to learn it all, then you probably are a yogi. Welcome to the path!

People don’t make other people happy,” Noah pointed out. “Life lesson,” Sara stabbed her pointer finger at him accusingly.

Xaden clicks his tongue and wiggles his pointer finger. “No, no. I’d hate to lose the spirit of civility, wouldn’t you? We were all getting along so nicely.

Four dark letters marked his skin: MINE. Below this cursive script was a detailed open jaw of a wolf, fangs visible as if it lunged for an attack. The word and wolf’s jaw were angled in a way that followed the curve of his thumb to his pointer finger.

Why do you have king tattooed across your fingers?” A letter on each one, from pinky to pointer. A crown on his thumb. Midnight eyes met mine as he spoke in that rich, bourbon tone. “For the same reason I’m going to ink yours with queen someday.” His broad hand covered the small of my back, strengthening my unsteady frame. “It is what fate demands.