The hand on my hair moved to my back, and I realized someone was singing softly. The voice was familiar, and something about it made my chest ache. Well, that was to be expected. Angels' songs would be awfully poignant.
'I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar, when I met you...' the voice crooned.
I frowned. Was that really an appropriate song for the Heavenly Host to be.
The hand of the market is blind as well as invisible, and left to its own devices it may fail to do anything at all about the threat of global warming or the dangerous potential of artificial intelligence.
The hand of the aggressor is stayed by strength -- and strength alone.
The hand of fate had dipped into the ragbag of humanity.
The hand of bone and sinew and flesh achieves its immortality in taking up a pen. The hand on a page wields a greater power than the fleshly hand ever could in life.
The hand of benevolence is everywhere stretched out, searching into abuses, righting wrongs, alleviating distresses, and bringing to the knowledge and sympathies of the world the lowly, the oppressed, and the forgotten.
The hand of a bride becomes the hand of a mother. Ever so gently she cares for her precious child. Bathing, dressing, feeding, comforting-there is no hand like mother's. Nor does its tender care diminish through the years.
The hand of Providence creeps among the stars, giving Slothrop the finger.
The hand of God creates; it does not conceal.
The hand is, in the highest degree, a human characteristic. It is man's organ of grasp and of the sense of touch, while in animals these two functions are relegated to the mouth.
The hand is the prehensile organ of the mind.
The hand is the cutting edge of the mind.
The hand is man's most valuable servant; its dexterity enables it to respond to his slightest bidding.
The hand has the richest articulation of space.
The hand entrusted with power becomes, either from human depravity or esprit de corps, the necessary enemy of the people.
The hand does not argue with the head.
The hand descended. Nearer and nearer it came. It touched the ends of his upstanding hair. He shrank down under it. It followed down after him, pressing more closely against him. Shrinking, almost shivering. He still managed to hold himself together. It was a torment, this hand that touched him and violated his instinct. He could not forget in a day all the evil that had been wrought him at the hands of men.
The hand cannot reach higher than does the heart.
The hand above turns those leaves of loves, all in all a timeless view. Each dream of life flung from paradise everlasting, ever new.