“That moment I felt a bit like crying. I don't really know why. Nana's hand felt so warm that it even warmed my heart.”

“He felt warm and familiar. He felt solid and safe. I wanted to cling to his shirt, bury my face into the warm curve of his neck, and never let go.”

“He put his hand on my waist, and my heart began to pound, a rougher rhythm than the music. I held my skirt. Our free hands met. His felt warm and comforting and unsettling and bewildering--all at once.”

“Holding this soft, small living creature in my lap this way, though, and seeing how it slept with complete trust in me, I felt a warm rush in my chest. I put my hand on the cat's chest and felt his heart beating. The pulse was faint and fast, but his heart, like mine, was ticking off the time allotted to his small body with all the restless earnestness of my own.”

“I don't know why I felt so closed and bitter and threatened by the things I did not like.”

“So often, I felt like my hands and heart knew something I did not, and I surrendered the art to them.”