One learns to itch where one can scratch.

Still, I may have been glad to scratch the dry surface of our day-to-day peaceableness the way Violetta had clawed the sere crust on her limbs, anything to get something bright and liquid flowing again, out in the open and slippery between our fingers.

Scratch first, itch later.

Happiness is having a scratch for every itch.

I love to act. I need to act. It's the big itch I need to scratch.

I get this terrible itch. An itch I can only scratch with a pen or a keyboard.