A Quote by Thom Gunn

As if hands were enough
To hold an avalanche off. — © Thom Gunn
As if hands were enough To hold an avalanche off.
I held hands with her all the time...that doesn't sound like much, I realize, but she was terrific to hold hands with. Most girls if you hold hands with them, their goddam hand dies on you, or else they think they have to keep moving their hand all the time, as if they were afraid they'd bore you or something.
I may not have hands to hold my wife’s hands, but I don’t need hands to hold her heart. That’s what I’m gonna hold.
I do miss the Avalanche. That's the my favorite car of all time, but that Dodge Ram Rebel has overtaken the Avalanche; I just love that truck. It's got good vents in the hood; there's no running boards underneath, so I can go Baja-ing if I want to, off-roading.
I used to be very hands-on, but lately I've been more hands-off and I plan to become more hands-on and less hands-off and hope that hands-on will become better than hands-off, the way hands-on used to be.
Eric was holding my hands, and I was digging my nails into him like we were doing something else. He won't mind, I though, as I realized I'd drawn blood. And sure enough, he didn't. "Let go," he advised me, and I loosened my grip on his hands. "No, not of me," he said smiling. "You can hold on to me as long as you want.
She was terrific to hold hands with. Most girls if you hold hands with them, their goddam hand dies on you, or else they think they have to keep moving their hand all the time, as if they were afraid they'd bore you or something. Jane was different. We'd get into a goddam movie or something, and right away we'd start holding hands, and we wouldn't quit till the movie was over. And without changing the position or making a big deal out of it. You never even worried, with Jane, whether your hand was sweaty or not. All you knew was, you were happy. You really were.
This is a long goodbye, yet not time enough. I have no aptitude for this. I cannot learn this. I would hold on, and hold on, until my hands clutch at emptiness.
I hold my face in my two hands. No, I am not crying. I hold my face in my two hands to keep the loneliness warm - two hands protecting, two hands nourishing, two hands preventing my soul from leaving me in anger.
My dad loves boxing, so he used to hold up his hands when we were little kids, and we would punch his hands, and he slowly got us little gloves, and little punching bags that he'd always hold for us.
What kind of husband am I gonna be if I can't even hold my wife's hand? ...but I realized I may not have hands to hold my wife's hand, but when the time comes, I'll be able to hold her heart. I don't need hands to hold her heart.
The avalanche of time sweeps everything before it. Every individual instant hurtles into oblivion, drowning out the obliteration of the instant immediately preceding it, and then it too disappears under the onslaught of the next and the next and the next. When the avalanche has shuddered past for a long enough time, the perception of the past evolves. Distant events grow beyond mere history and take on the weight of legend.
. . . [T]o live not with hands clenched to grasp, to strike, to hold tight to a life that is always slipping away the more tightly we hold it, but . . . to live with the hands stretched out both to give and receive with gladness.
I like smaller films better. I don't know why. I think it's the intimacy and there's not this avalanche. It is an avalanche, but it's really myopic. It's really small.
I was like a clock that had exploded- my springs were hanging out, my hands were cockeyed, and my numbers were falling off.
So in 2000, when we changed the business model and started really focusing on that triangle and putting the customer in the center, we decided we should hold off - we've done enough consolidation; we've got enough critical mass.
After perhaps thirty meters, just as a soldier turned around, the girl was felled. Hands were clamped upon her from behind and the boy next door brought her down. He forced her knees to the road and suffered the penalty. He collected her punches as if they were presents. Her bony hands and elbows were accepted with nothing but a few short moans. He accumulated the loud, clumsy specks of saliva and tears as if they were lovely to his face, and more important, he was able to hold her down.
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