“I laid my hand on top of theirs, and all I could think was, Is this how revolutions begin? Not with a proclamation or a riot, but with a few people in a room somewhere with their hands clasped and a purpose.”

“Words were few and failing between them as though the silence that sat with them had laid its old lips on theirs and sucked them dry of speech. For where could one begin? With the weather? But here there was no weather. These few sad rooms were the old man's world. His horizons were all walls.”

“Hey,” I reached out and tapped the hand that rested next to my left leg. “you are--”The hand that I tapped reached up and clasped mine. I froze as he threaded his finders through mine. “I’m what?”Beautiful. Kind. Patient. Perfect. I said none of those things. Instead, I stared at his fingers, wondering if he knew he was holding my hand. “You’re always so….”His thumb moved over the top of my hand. The balm made his fingers cool and smooth. “What?”I looked up, and I was immediately snared. His stare, his soft touch along my hand was doing very strange things. I felt hot and dizzy, like I’d been out in the sun all day. All I could think about was how his hand felt on mine. Then, what his hand would feel like on other parts. I shouldn’t be thinking that at all.Aiden was a pure.”

“She puts her hand forward. "Come on, let's do a yay team!"Blake immediately puts her hand on top of Nia's."I'm not doing that," I say."Wolfie, do not deny us this simple pleasure. C'mon."I roll my eyes and put my hand on top of theirs."Yay team!" Squeals Blake. And she's supposed to be the sensible one.”

“To clasp the hands in prayer is the beginning of an uprising against the disorder of the world.”

“All people end up somewhere in life, but few end up there on purpose.”