Your Fingertips

— Woe to my heart from her fingertips. She is forever trying to play upon its strings the legend of my love and my disappointment. (Byron)

— A woman's fingertips are dyed with blood; so ask them how many hearts they have pressed into her cup until she grew drunk. (Schumann)

— Let me kiss your fingertips and press them until I feel your pulse. (Balzac)