Quotes About Sensory

I hand the cage to him and he takes it firmly in his arms. 'Your hankie smells nice,' he says, almost in a whisper.

I don't want to turn any of this into poetry / but / you're so beautiful / flowers turn their heads to smell you

This morning, Tegus welcomed me again with an arm clasp and cheek touch. I wasn't startled this time, and I breathed in at his neck. How can I describe the scent of his skin? He smells something like cinnamon-- brown and dry and sweet and warm. Ancestors, is it wrong for me to imagine laying my head on his chest and closing my eyes and breathing in his smell?

You'd eat a plate, and call it pleasantly crunchy.

If it had been a color, it might have been green. If it had touched her ears, it might have sounded rhythmic, like the creak of a rocking chair or drone of a bee. If it had a scent, it might have been sweet and drowsy, like fresh pine on the fire.

Briar thrust a crystal cup with a silver spoon into Apple's hands. "Whipped air. Try it. Totally invisible and totally good." Apple dipped the spoon into the empty cup and touched it to her tongue. The nothingness tasted like chocolate-raspberry swirl. "Mm, this is amazing.

Something I am wondering: if you cannot hear do you have no sounds in your head? Do you see a silent movie

Thoughts need words. Words need a voice. I love the smell of my mother's hair after she washes it. I love the feel of the scratchy stubble on my father's face before he shaves. But I've never been able to tell them.

I like how a book feels when I turn the pages, and how the ink smells—almost like something good to eat.

I have eaten brains, my tongue loves to probe the delicate folds

Along the runway, wind poured through the coat of horsetail fur, and terns, in their skirts, fluttered above the thumbnail and crochet-hook snails, and we knock-swashed up, excreting fumes of carbon fern and marrow—and in the seat pocket, in front of me, were crimped, furled buds, stems bushy with fresh thorns, and her last flagon of perfume, its glass dove alighting to seize it...

The noise made Kim want to cover her ears, reminding her, as it did, of diarhoettic excretion.

As a culture I see us as presently deprived of subtleties. The music is loud, the anger is elevated, sex seems lacking in sweetness and privacy.

Half the time I read Hayek's The Sensory Order with amazement at the extent of his reading and comprehension. He is right most of the time.

Brazil is not what you see but what you feel. Once you spend time here - a week, two weeks - you get in the vibe. It's really intoxicating.

I think I'm just really sensitive to the world. I really feel like I spend a lot of time "turned off".

She watched his lips forming the words, at the same time she heard them under her skin, under her winter coat, so near and full of warmth that she felt herself go hot.

Because of the time we're in, it's so easy to just blend all of it together and it's kind of like you're listening to everything all at once.

I have always been thinking about the sounds and shades and aromas of words - fitting them together or disrupting their customary march - more or less every second of my life, waking and sleeping.

I can hear you and I can watch your mouth move, and then I put together the sounds and the visual image and I can understand the words as I integrate the two signals.

The smell of roasting meat together with that of burning fruit wood and dried herbs, as voluptuous as incense in a church, is enough to turn anyone into a budding gastronome

It is stronge how smells can bring back vivid memories.

And she was in his arms, her head pillowed against his shoulder, held to him, rocked against him. She closed her eyes and willed herself to remember every detail of this moment for the rest of her life. The hard muscularity of his body. The comfort of his arms and his shoulder. His cheek against the top of her head. The warmth and the smell of him. He and she, and their child between them. Perhaps thirty seconds. At the most a minute. A minute to last a lifetime.

Standing in the shower, I feel something on the back of my leg that turns out to be my ass.