The hands on a clock move without regard to the hands you hold.

Nothing, I learned, brings you into the present quite like holding hands. The past seemed irrelevant; the future, unnecessary.

Later, holding Milo’s hand in the dark, Jacob felt that it was only in recovering it that he learned what he had been in danger of losing. The touch of Milo’s hand seemed to remind him of parts of himself that he had already begun to forget about.

We have hands; we can stand on them if we want to. That's our privilege. That's the joy of a mortal body. And that's why God needs us. Because God loves to feel things through our hands.

His hand glides down my arm, folds over my hand. His fingers lace with mine, palms kissing. I can feel the fast thud of his heart through this single touch.

I didn't do the marching down the streets, jumping in front of the lines and holding hands... that wasn't me.