People go on about eyes being windows to the soul. I think that you can tell the most about a person by their hands.
Sometimes I hold mine an arms length away. Or I watch them as they type or turn a doorknob or sit heavy in my lap, laden with uncertainty. And sometimes they look foreign to me. And sometimes they feel sore from pencil holding and from awkward waves. They sheepishly turn pages of books. My hands move sometimes to fill up silence. I hum quietly and my hands move. They go from my hair to my other hand to resting under my chin to subconciously covering my expectant mouth, to drumming on my lips.
And I think lips can tell a lot about a person, too. The way they frame words in talking. The way they close; the subtle way they open. The misshapen o's they make in moments of shock, surprise.