Daniel Handler Quotes

Go home, Gideon. Please." "I am home." He caught me from behind and buried his face in mu soaked hair. "I'm with you.

It's often just enough to be with someone. I don't need to touch them. Not even talk. A feeling passes between you both. You're not alone.

Putting my hand in someone else’s has always been my definition of happiness. Before I fall asleep, often - in that small struggle not to lose consciousness and go into the greater world - often, before I get up the courage to go into the vastness of sleep, I pretend that someone has my hand in theirs, and then I go, go to that enormous absence of form that is sleep. And when even after that I don’t have courage, I dream.

Don't be afraid," i murmured. "We belong together.

Outside are the storms and strangers: we — Oh, close, safe, warm sleep I and she, — I and she!

I'm thinking I would like to dance in the rain with this person. I would like to lie next to him in the dark and watch him breathe and watch him sleep and wonder what he's dreaming about and not get an inferiority complex if the dreams aren't about me.

Don't leave my embrace for here in my arms is your place.

Are you okay?" Daniel whispered, his voice soft, his lips so close to hers. "Yes." She could feel the beating of his wings. "You caught me." "I will always catch you when you fall.

What feeling is so nice as a child's hand in yours? So small, so soft and warm, like a kitten huddling in the shelter of your clasp.

I can't really explain what it's like to be in love, but I feel like it's being comfortable. It's almost like having a best friend. It's a beautiful thing.

When I'm dancing with any woman, I immediately get rid of intimacy barriers. I just give her a big hug and crack on.

Sex is a two-way treat.

I love you - I am at rest with you - I have come home.

There's a bizarre comfort and safety in doing your last and most intimate scenes with the actor you've worked most closely.

I'm a cuddler; I like harmony.

Just the act of sleeping beside someone you liked to be with. Maybe that was love.

Make me feel at home, if you really care, scratch my back and run your pretty fingers through my hair.

He gives my hand a tight squeeze, but that desperation, that urgency between us is gone. No insecurities. Max and Fang. Fang and Max. No longer a question. We just are.

As his hands moved to his trousers, he saw that she was pulling the bedsheets over her. "Don't," he said, barely recognizing his own voice. Her eyes met his, and he said, "I'll be your blanket".

The smell of loving is a difficult one to describe, but if you think of the times when someone has held you close and made you safe, you will remember how it smells just as well as I do.

The Colonel's hand was so little, and I grabbed it tight, his cold seeping into me and my warmth into him. 'I memorized the populations,' he said.

There is a stage with people we love when we are no longer separate from them, but so close in sympathy that we live through them as directly as through ourselves. ... we push back our hair because theirs is in their eyes.

It was about falling asleep with Sam's chest pressed against my back so I could feel his heart slow to match mine. It was about growing up and realizing that the feel of his arms around me, the smell of him when he was sleeping, the sound of his breathing -- that was home and everything I wanted at the end of the day. It wasn't the same as being with him and we were awake.

Having a sister or a friend is like sitting at night in a lighted house. Those outside can watch you if they want, but you need not see them. You simply say, "Here are the perimeters of our attention. If you prowl around under the windows till the crickets go silent, we will pull the shades. If you wish us to suffer your envious curiosity, you must permit us not to notice it." Anyone with one solid human bond is that smug, and it is the smugness as much as the comfort and safety that lonely people covet and admire.

There was nowhere to go, but I turned to go and met Atticus's vest front. I buried my head in it and listened to the small internal noises that went on behind the light blue cloth: his watch ticking, the faint crackle of his starched shirt, the soft sound of his breathing. 'Your stomach's growling,' I said. 'I know it,' he said.