“That night I lay in bed, remembering the moment when her hand touched mine. I wondered what it would be like to have her touch me not by accident, to maybe have her let me touch her.”

“There's something special about her. When she helped me with her touch-"
"Exactly what was she touching that was so memorable for you?"
"Watch your mouth.”

“I've told her a fairy tale that she doesn't remember. I have written hundreds of poems that could not touch her feelings. To her I was not a poet. To her I was not a good writer. I was not the right person for her to love.”

“And reach out for her healing hands,
Reach out for her healing hands.
There's a light, where the darkness ends.
Touch me now and let me see again,
Rock me now in your gentle healing hands.”

“Her hand touched me at the wrist. "If I gave you my life, you would drop it. Wouldn't you?"

I didn't say anything.”

“No real lady would let a dress that might have been worn by a stranger touch her skin.”

“He leans over and takes her hand. With the other he touches her face. ‘You your best thing, Sethe. You are.’ His holding fingers are holding hers.

‘Me? Me?”

“If you can touch her heart without touching her, then you can melt her heart just by saying her name.”

“I don't remember everything," he said.
"Not yet. But I remember you."
He brought her hand up, touched the gold ring on her right index finger, the Fair Folk metal warm to the touch.
"Clary," he said.
"You're Clary. You're my best friend.”

“I didn’t care about anything except her and the way touching her drove me wild, even as her calm and steady presence soothed the storms that raged within me.”