“"Why!" said Huxter, suddenly, "that's not a man at all. It's just empty clothes. Look! You can see down his collar and the linings of his clothes. I could put my arm—"He extended his hand; it seemed to meet something in mid-air, and he drew it back with a sharp exclamation. "I wish you'd keep your fingers out of my eye," said the aerial voice, in a tone of savage expostulation. "The fact is, I'm all here: head, hands, legs, and all the rest of it, but it happens I'm invisible. It's a confounded nuisance, but I am. That's no reason why I should be poked to pieces by every stupid bumpkin in Iping, is it?"”

“He touched her face, gently, with the back of his hand. 'you disappear so completely into your head sometimes.' he said. 'i wish i could follow you.'
you do, she wanted to say, you live in my head all the time”

“You could say I'm on the troubleshooting squad."
"Troubleshooting?"
He put a hand on the back of his waistband. "I see trouble and I shoot it.”

“Can I hold your hand?" he asked.
I put mine in his.
"The universe is seeming really huge right now," he told me. "I need something to hold on to."
"I'm here.”

“You saved me," I said. Nathaniel put his hands on either side of my face. "I had to," he said. "So you could save me back.”

“I am stronger when Tessa is here, you see. I told it to you," said Jem, still in the same soft voice.

At that, Will did duck his head so that Tessa could not see his eyes. "I see it," he said.”

“Jace shook his head. 'I don't care if I did just set myself on fire,' he said. 'I'm not hugging you.'
Simon sighed and dropped his arms. 'Your loss,' he said. 'If you'd gone in, I would've let you, but honestly it would have been a pity hug.”

“I'm gonna barf," I whispered to Fang, wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans.
You'll be fine," he whipered back. "You always are.
I'm gonna die," I moaned.
You can't die," he said a hint of a smile in his voice."You're the indesructible Max.”

“By turning my head slightly, I could see something out of the corner of my eye: it was a hand, the small white hand which slid along the table a little while ago. Now it was resting on its back, relaxed, soft and sensual, it had the indolent nudity of a woman sunning herself after bathing. A brown hairy object approached it, hesitant. It was a thick finger, yellowed by tobacco; inside this hand it had all the grossness of a male sex organ. It stopped for an instant, rigid, pointing at the fragile palm, then suddenly, it timidly began to stroke it. I was not surprised, I was only furious at the Self-Taught Man (L'Autodidacte); couldn't he hold himself back, the fool, didn't he realize the risk he was running?
The Self-Taught Man did not look surprised. He must have been expecting this for years. He must have imagined what would happen a hundred times, the day the Corsican would slip up behind him and a furious voice would resound suddenly in his ears. Yet he came back every evening, he feverishly pursued his reading and then, from time to time, like a thief, stroked a white hand or perhaps the leg of a small boy. It was resignation that I read on his face.”

“My favorite fantasy? You come down into my daytime resting place stark naked," he said, and I could see the gleam of his teeth as he smiled. "Oh, wait," Bill said. "That's already happened.”